


Song of the Lost

by ShapeShiftersandFire



Category: Hellsing, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Separation, Gen, Non Consensual Daemon Touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 09:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShapeShiftersandFire/pseuds/ShapeShiftersandFire
Summary: Integra becomes flooded with reports of children with unsettled dæmons disappearing and returning without them, hollow-eyed and dull. As she begins to dig deeper to uncover the cruel masterminds behind the dæmonless children, Integra finds herself in the middle of a far more sinister plot that threatens to destroy her organization and bring her to her knees.





	1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION:**

**THE DÆMONS**

**Illiad**  
\- Female  
\- 22 years of age  
\- Integra Hellsing's dæmon  
-Settled Form: Russian Blue Cat  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the cat is a guardian and protector, especially in confrontational situations. Illiad is protective of Integra, though she finds herself held back by the human-dæmon relationship and feels she cannot always sufficiently protect her counterpart. While she has settled as a Russian Blue in the sense of OVA, she would have settled as a snow leopard in the original anime.

**Homer**  
\- Male  
\- 67 years of age  
\- Arthur Hellsing's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Bloodhound  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the dog is devoted, represents tracking skills, the ability to scent a trail, and companionship. Homer named Integra's dæmon after the book that bears her name, though with a slightly different spelling variation. He himself is named after the famous Greek poet.

**Bentley**  
\- Male  
\- 69 years of age  
\- Walter Dornez's dæmon  
-Settled Form: Foxhound  
**Notes:** (See Homer- Notes for dog symbolism) Bentley, while originally settling as a foxhound, would later resettle as a black jaguar after Walter's transformation.

**Andreas**  
\- Male  
\- Unknown age  
\- Alexander Andersen's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Irish Wolfhound  
**Notes:** (See Homer- Notes for dog symbolism)

**Sven**  
\- Male  
\- 47 years of age  
\- The Major's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: European Badger  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the badger is unyielding in the face of danger, and is noted for its tenacity and courage. It will teach you to fight for your rights and defend your spiritual ideas. Sven is by far the strangest dæmon to walk the earth, and his bond with the Major is like nothing the world has ever seen.

**Rohan**  
\- Male  
\- 19 years of age  
\- Seras Victoria's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Hedgehog  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the hedgehog has a need for less defensiveness and seriousness. It appreciates life more. Rohan, despite Seras's overwhelming change from human to vampire, never resettled, though he does take the form of anything far more vicious than a hedgehog when Seras enters a blood rage.

**Eripmav**  
\- Female  
\- Unknown age  
\- Alucard's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Black Cobra  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the snake represents wisdom, reincarnation, and cunning. Eripmav, in Alucard's younger female form, was able to change into any form she pleased, as all children's dæmons are able to do. As Dracula's counterpart, she took the form of a black Griffin.

**Beneviere**  
\- Male  
\- 33 years of age  
\- Pip Bernadotte's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Red Squirrel  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the squirrel is always preparing for the future.

**Ashvenzeil**  
\- Male  
\- 70 years of age  
\- Rip van Winkle's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Swan  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the swan is connected with music and song; it helps with the interpretation of dream symbols, transitions, and spiritual evaluation. Ashvenzeil's name has no meaning; he was called the first thing that came to mind. Rip commonly calls him "Ashes."

**Calidor**  
\- Male  
\- 33 years of age  
\- Enrico Maxwell's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: White-tailed Deer  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the deer represents keen sight, grace swiftness, and gentleness; there are ways of reaching goals other than force. Calidor is not necessarily gentle, nor is his counterpart, but he has been known to have more common sense than his counterpart.

**Sheppa**  
\- Female  
\- 40 years of age  
\- Shelby Penwood's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Rough Collie  
**Notes:** (See Homer- Notes for dog symbolism) Sheppa has always been able to keep a level head on her shoulders and does not show her fear; among the dæmons, she is sometimes considered to be braver than her counterpart, though she always does her best to calm him.

**Articus**  
\- Male  
\- 45 years of age  
\- Richard Hellsing's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Jackal  
**Notes:** In Egyptian mythology, the jackal is a spirit guide, and teaches faithfulness. Articus is neither a decent spirit guide nor faithful to anyone but his counterpart. He does not get along with Bentley.

**Grinsley**  
\- Male  
\- 25 years of age  
\- Heinkel Wolfe's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Timber Wolf  
**Notes:** In Celtic mythology, the wolf is cunning, intelligent, and capable of out-thinking hunters. It can teach you how to read the signs of nature in everything, how to pass by danger invisibly, how to outwit those who wish you harm, and how to fight when needed.

**Grendel**  
\- Male  
\- 102 years of age  
\- The Doctor's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Osprey  
**Notes:** In Native American mythology, the osprey is often linked to those of otherworldly vision; it is also a common symbol of abundance. Grendel was named after the monster in the Anglo-Saxon epic _Beowulf_.

**Rotta**  
\- Female  
-155 years of age  
\- The Captain's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: German Shepherd  
**Notes:** (See Homer- Notes for dog symbolism) Like her counterpart, Rotta is a dæmon of silence.

**Vervadain**  
\- Male  
\- 73 years of age  
-Tubalcain Alhambra's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Raccoon  
**Notes:** In Native American mythology, the raccoon is a trickster, but is also a skilled forager.

**Windsor**  
\- Male  
\- 75 years of age  
\- Hugh Iron's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: English Bulldog  
**Notes:** (See Homer- Notes for dog symbolism) Windsor and Illiad do not always see eye to eye on issues, often leading to confrontations between them. It has gotten Integra into trouble with Sir Irons more than once; she makes it a point to keep Illiad well away from Windsor during Round Table meetings.

**Kai-Ren**  
\- Male  
\- 29 years of age  
\- Yumiko Takagi's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Lion  
**Notes:** In common mythology, the lion is a symbol of protection, bravery, and courage. It is also seen as a king or ruler.

**Vanderbalt** **  
**-**** Male  
\- 75 years of age  
\- Zorin Blitz's dæmon  
\- Settled Form: Spotted Hyena  
**Notes:** As a totem animal, the spotted hyena is a symbol of integration between aspects of male and female. The hyena teaches balance, realizing our own powers, and being happy with what we are given.


	2. The White Moth, Part 1

Illiad came to Integra in the form of a white moth. It was only a few moments after Integra had been born, on the night of a full moon. The window had been left open, letting a cool summer's night draft flow through the room.

A glowing trail of dust followed through the window. As it passed through the threshold, it began to take on the form of a delicate white moth. The little moth fluttered across the room and made itself comfortable on Integra's forehead. And so they were bonded, human and dæmon.

Arthur Hellsing's dæmon was a Bloodhound called Homer, who had named Integra's dæmon after the Greek legend _The Iliad_ , himself being named after the great poet who wrote it. While Arthur looked after Integra, Homer looked after Illiad. He couldn't teach the young dæmon anything of shapeshifting, not when it came naturally to her as a child's dæmon.

Illiad often took the form of a Bloodhound, a near mirror image of Homer. They played carefully together, so as to not harm each other and their human counterparts. They laid together on quiet days when Arthur wasn't busy managing the affairs of the Hellsing Organization and could sit with Integra. The little dæmon sometimes forgot herself and chewed on Homer's long, floppy ears.

On days when Arthur and Homer couldn't be around, Integra and Illiad sometimes entertained themselves in the backyard. Illiad liked to explore the animal forms she could take on, and Integra liked to watch. It was sort of a game to her, what form could her dæmon take on next? If Illiad's new form was small enough to hide in the grass, Integra liked to guess what form her dæmon was in. If not, Illiad like to surprise her.

Integra's favorite form of Illiad's was her snow leopard form. There was something beautiful she found in the pale pattern of spots that covered Illiad's stone gray fur.

Illiad's favorite form was on the other end of the size scale. She favored the form of a Russian Blue cat. She liked that form of a Bloodhound, it let her play with Homer without getting hurt, but her cat form let her get closer to Integra. And she liked being close to Integra, she felt safe. Homer said that it was a dæmon's natural instinct to remain close to their counterpart; it minimized the chances of something happening to either one of them.

She believed him, of course. Sometimes she and Integra grew uncomfortable when they were too far apart. Homer and Arthur told them it was nothing to worry about. It simply meant that they were too far away from each other than their bond allowed.

When Integra and Illiad were twelve years old, Homer and Arthur began to fall ill. Integra and Illiad turned more and more to the butler, Walter, and his foxhound dæmon, Bentley. They were a good-natured pair; they took over the role of father where Arthur and Homer couldn't.

There was Integra's uncle, Richard Hellsing, and his jackal dæmon, Articus, but they were suspicious and often looked down on Integra and Illiad with disdain.

In between schooling, Integra and Illiad did the best they could to visit Arthur and Homer. They were always happy to see each other, though Homer and Illiad couldn't play the way they used to. It was still nice to snuggle in with Homer and Arthur for a little while each day.

Illiad sensed Integra's sadness as her father's illness progressed, but they never discussed it. She felt just as sad about Homer. They just didn't have the words, or the heart, to voice their sadness.

Illiad didn't voice her suspicions about Richard to Integra, either. She had a sinking feeling that he was overly confident he would inherit the Hellsing Organization once Arthur died. Death was a heavy subject on Integra and was something they chose not to discuss.

She worried for Integra. Her uncle openly looked down on her, though never in Arthur's presence. She didn't know what would happen to Integra if Richard was named heir. He had never outright abused Integra, but there was no telling what would happen if he became the head of Hellsing. Illiad liked to imagine that Walter and Bentley would take care of her and Integra since Bentley was nearly twice Articus's size and Walter could be a dangerous foe if need be.

She worried, too, what could happen if Richard _wasn't_ named heir? What would he do to Integra then? She sometimes imagined Richard sneaking into Integra's room in the middle of the night and killing her with one bullet to the head. Other times she imagined him bullying his own niece into giving him the power and making sure Integra didn't live long enough to see it fall into her hands. No matter what Illiad imagined, it always ended with her and Integra dead in one way or another.

Illiad's fears became more than just frivolous worries when Arthur called them to his room one day. Richard wasn't there, and for that Illiad was thankful. Whatever Arthur had to tell them couldn't have been meant for Richard's ears.

Walter and Bentley at least accompanied them to Arthur's room. Illiad walked close to Bentley in the form of a foxhound. She wouldn't have minded being up in Integra's arms, but there was something in the foxhound dæmon's presence that calmed her some.

_I'm afraid, Bentley,_ she said before she could stop herself.

_I know,_ he said, giving her ear a lick. _Walter and I don't like Richard and Articus any more than you do. Articus would have done better to settle as a weasel._

Illiad nodded. So Bentley and Walter didn't like Richard and Articus, either. Well, at least she wasn't alone. She shifted into the form of a Bloodhound as they crossed into Arthur's room. she glanced up at Integra. Her human counterpart was worried but was doing her best not to show it.

Illiad leaped onto the bed as Integra sat down at her father's side. She trotted over to Homer and affectionately licked his face. _Hello, Homer._

The Bloodhound's tail wagged weakly. _My dear, Illiad,_ he said. _Come, lie down. Arthur has something important to share with you and Integra._

The weakness in Homer's voice worried Illiad. _Homer,_ she said, _are you dying?_

Homer sighed. _Yes, dear Illiad, Arthur and I are dying._

Illiad shook her head. _No, Homer, you can't be!_

_Come here, Illiad. Come here._

Illiad did as Homer instructed. She made herself comfortable by his chest.

_Death is not something to be afraid of, Illiad,_ Homer explained. _It is a natural part of life that touches everyone at one point or another. Worry not, Illiad. You and Integra are young and healthy. You will live to see many more sunrises and many more sunsets._ He gave Illiad a lick. _Focus on your time here on Earth. Don't worry about the future._

Illiad was about to object, to tell Homer of her fears about Richard, when Arthur spoke. His voice was weak but urgent. "Integra, Illiad," he began slowly, "if the time should ever come, when all other hope is lost, if you should find yourself surround with your enemies closing in, go to the last cell of the deepest dungeon of the estate. There lies one of the Hellsing family's darkest legacies. It will be the instrument of your salvation."

Two days later, after having given Integra her instructions and naming her his heir, Arthur and Homer died. It was expected, but shocking nonetheless.

And then, before they had time to mourn, Integra and Illiad were on the run.

Richard Hellsing and four other men began hunting them down the night after Arthur died. Integra and Illiad knew right away that they needed help, but Walter and Bentley were away on business, and there was no one else in the mansion to help them. They made for the basement, just as Arthur instructed.

Integra decided it was best for them to get off the main floor once they were low enough in the mansion. She scooped Illiad into her arms and made for the ventilation system. Richard and his men couldn't follow them. Not even their dæmons could follow them, not without igniting a flurry of physical and emotional pain from the separation.

She nudged Illiad on ahead of her, looking over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't been discovered or followed. She crawled after her dæmon, keeping her between her arms to keep her close. She crawled quietly, so as not to alert anyone who might be listening below her.

"Come on, Illiad," she whispered. "We're almost there..."

Through a grate in the vent Integra could see the dark floor of the dungeon. They were close. Now all they had to do was get to the last cell and avoid Richard in the process.

But it wasn't long until Integra heard her uncle's voice below her, taunting her. She heard the click of a gun and knew her time was running out.

"Let's go," she whispered. She steered her dæmon away from the grate and toward a ladder, hanging from a grate further away from her uncle. She let Illiad perch on her shoulder in the form of a white moth, blending in against her shirt collar, and climbed down the ladder. She made a beeline for the last cell of the dungeon, as instructed, hoping to beat her uncle and find her salvation.

Illiad had never seen a snake as large as the black cobra that stood before her and Integra. The shock was enough to take the pain away from her shoulder, in the same place as the bleeding gunshot wound on Integra's.

The cobra fanned her hood and stood taller next to her human, or rather vampiric, counterpart, who stood taller than Integra, even on one knee. Her tongue flickered as her gaze switched from Illiad to Integra. Her head bobbed and she reached forward to hiss something inaudible into her counterpart's ear. His eyes shifted, but he said nothing.

Illiad crouched next to Integra, back in her cat form. They were alone with a bloodthirsty monster that had just devoured Richard and his men and could easily overpower her and Integra. And Walter was miles away.

"What is your name?" Integra asked.

"My master," the vampire said in an airy voice," your father called me... Alucard."

"And your dæmon?"

_Eripmav,_ the black cobra introduced herself with another bob of her head.

"My name is Integra," Illiad's counterpart introduced herself. "This is my dæmon, Illiad."

"Integra," Alucard echoed, "and Illiad. It is... a pleasure." He extended his hand for Integra to shake.

As Integra accepted his friendly gesture, Illiad felt a stirring in her body. She tingled all over, as though ants were crawling through her fur. Something was happening, something she couldn't ignore. _Integra!_

Eripmav's hood seemed to fan wider; her mouth opened just enough to show her tongue and fangs.

Integra looked from Illiad to Alucard, confused. "Is something wrong?"

The black cobra hissed in amusement. She waved her body from one side to the other. Alucard smiled.

_She's settling,_ Eripmav said.

" _Settling?_ " Integra and Illiad echoed at once.

_Yes,_ Eripmav answered. _It is natural. When a human child reaches maturity, her dæmon will settle into one form. Congratulations, Integra Hellsing._ She waved again and nodded her head. _Your dæmon, Illiad, has settled._


	3. Sighs and Echoes

The reports were coming in faster than Integra Hellsing had ever seen. Never before had she received so many reports of hollow-eyed and lifeless children separated from their dæmons. The reports had been coming in since two Aprils ago, when the first few had made their way to Integra's desk. Now it was May two years later, and the reports had stacked themselves into three neat piles on her desk. They had come in faster and heavier than the month before, and the flood was still lapping at the Hellsing Organization's doorstep.

Normally Hellsing wouldn't have taken on these kinds of cases, but when children were disappearing off the streets of London and other cities in England only to return without their dæmons, it was only reasonable that Hellsing get involved. And especially when there were new vampires turning up that had not been turned the traditional way. For all Integra knew, the creator of these new vampires was the same sadistic mastermind that was kidnapping children and severing them from their unsettled dæmons. Not to mention that there were some things that the local police departments just couldn't do, and Hellsing had a broader range of jurisdiction that spanned over the entirety of England.

There was that, and then there was the fact that Integra had a dæmon of her own, as was normal in her world. Hers was in the form of a Russian Blue cat, a female her father's dæmon had named Illiad.

Integra had always thought that Illiad would have settled into the form of a snow leopard, for reasons even she didn't quite understand. Instead, Illiad had settled into her favorite form, that of a sleek Russian Blue. It had almost come as a surprise to Integra; she had heard of dæmons having a favored form but often settling into another. Illiad had done just the opposite, and after their first meeting with Alucard and his dæmon, Eripmav.

Now, as Integra stared with exhaustion at the three stacks on her desk, she thought of all the children who would never get to see their dæmons settle. Of the hundreds of reported children, nearly half of them had died, unable to live without their dæmons. That number was still climbing, and it broke Integra's heart.

She was doing everything in her power to find out who was doing this to these poor children, but so far she'd had no luck. The police had gotten no leads, no information to pass on to her. The reports on her desk led to a cold trail.

With a sigh, she leaned back in her desk chair, tired and defeated. She was much more used to dealing with vampires and ghouls, not severed dæmons. She had always welcomed a challenge, but this one hit too close to home.

At nineteen, her dæmon had been settled for only seven years and she knew as well as anyone how deep the connection between human and dæmon ran. She could never imagine what it would be like to be severed from her dæmon. And to think that all those children at six, seven, eight, and nine years old had been torn from theirs.

With another sigh, Integra stared blankly at the ceiling. She couldn't help but wonder how her father would have handled the situation.

_Your father wouldn't have felt any better about this than you do._ The voice came from Illiad, who lay splayed out on her side on Integra's desk, as tired and defeated as her human counterpart.

"But he may have been able to do more." The beginnings of a headache made Integra's head pinch. She hadn't slept in nearly two days; the flood of reports had kept her up through all hours of the night. She felt as though she couldn't rest until she had gotten to the bottom of this heinous crime.

_This isn't going to solve itself in two nights, Integra. You need to rest._

Integra shook her head. She couldn't rest, not yet. She had to run through the files again. Maybe there was something she missed, something she just wasn't seeing. She leaned forward to go through the piled closest to Illiad and surprised herself with a yawn. She reached for the cup of tea Walter had brought her a few hours ago, only to discover that she had already drained the liquid from the cup.

She paged Walter over the phone, asking him for another cup of tea, and began to sort through her designated pile. The words were a blur, made no sense to Integra's eyes. She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. It was going to be another long night.

When Walter finally arrived at Integra's office, he had no tea with him, only a concerned expression on his face. Integra glanced up at him from her paperwork, her head in her hand.

"Hello, Walter." Her voice was tired; her words were slurred with sleep. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to stay awake and focused on the paper in front of her. She was too tired to register that Walter had no tea with him; it didn't matter anymore to her. She heard him sigh.

"Sir Integra, you've been up for forty-eight hours straight," he said. "You need to rest."

_I tried to tell her the same,_ Illiad said, her words equally as slurred and tired. _She wouldn't listen._

"Hmm." Walter stood unamused. "Yes, that sounds like her." He crossed the room and pulled Integra away from the report on her desk, ignoring her sleepy protests. "You need to rest." It wasn't a question, but a firm statement.

"Walter..." she protested slowly. “I can't, not yet." But she couldn't hold back another yawn.

"Yes, you can." Walter pulled her out of her chair with little effort. She was so exhausted she could hardly stand. Her eyelids felt heavy; she was ready to fall asleep into Walter's arms right then and there.

"Come on. Bentley, can you take Illiad?"

Bentley nodded and took Illiad onto his back without so much as a peep from the cat dæmon. _At least she knows when she's reached her limit,_ he quipped, earning a tired glare from Integra.

But Integra regardless allowed herself to be guided to her room. She sat down heavily at the edge of the bed, her head spinning. She hardly knew what was going on around her, it was all a blur. Half asleep, she yanked off her shoes, tossed them aside, and crawled into bed, all without changing out of her suit.

She didn't even hear Walter shut the door on his way out.

There was another dæmon staring back at her, a sleek black-footed ferret. It wasn't Illiad, she knew right away, despite her foggy mind. Illiad _never_ took the form of a ferret. They were dirty, foul creatures, she said, as flexible in their lies as they were in body.

Why, then, was there a black-footed ferret dæmon staring at her with terrified black eyes?

It wasn't clear to her at first, but she soon recognized that there was some sort of barrier in between her and the dæmon. It was a glass barrier, wired through with some kind of hair-thin silver mesh.

A humming noise rocked Integra in spite of its low volume. The ferret dæmon called out to her, a name that wasn't hers, and mute through the barrier. A silver light shone at the top of the barrier. A sharp twinge ran through her body. It grew progressively worse as the light fell lower, as though something was being ripped out of her from deep inside, from a place no surgeon could ever physically get to.

Suddenly she was aware of herself screaming. Whether it was in pain or protest, or a combination of both, or the name of a dæmon that didn't belong to her on her lips, she wasn't sure. But she was screaming regardless, and fighting against the glass that cut her off from the dæmon. The blade, as it was, lowered further, and soon there was nothing but black.

Integra woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding, hands wringing. She shivered and trembled uncontrollably. The dry stains around her eyes told her she had been crying, but she couldn't remember that.

She rolled onto her side and clutched a shaking Illiad to her chest. She dug her fingers into Illiad's fur; Illiad clung to Integra's suit with her claws. She drew her knees up with a violent shudder.

She remembered little about the nightmare she had just escaped. She was sure she remembered seeing another dæmon, yes, one that wasn't hers, a black-footed ferret. She remembered a glass wall, and then nothing.

A sob escaped Integra's mouth before she could stop it; a new set of tears rolled down her cheeks. Something in that nightmare had utterly terrified her, but what it was, she couldn't pinpoint precisely. Her only feeling was that something vital had been ripped from her and every instinct screamed at her to hold Illiad as close as she physically could.

She curled into a tighter ball, resisting the urge to call for Walter. She hadn't had to call for him during the night since she was twelve.

Suddenly and without warning the temperature in the room seemed to plunge, sending Integra into a violent shivering fit. She wanted to wipe her eyes of the tears that plagued them, but her hands were too attached to Illiad to respond to her brain's command. She mentally cursed herself for showing weakness in front of her servant. She was a leader, _his_ leader, not a tearful five-year-old. She should have been stronger than she was, but the nightmare had wracked her to her core.

"What bothers you, Master?" His raspy, yet airy voice made Integra's spine tingle. Did he really have to materialize in the room like that? What was so wrong with using the door? She couldn't respond.

"Something troubles you, Master." Integra heard Alucard's footsteps echo in the silence of the room as he grew closer; she heard Eripmav's scales gliding over the floor. She couldn't find the words to answer him. She didn't trust her voice, not that she could find it anyway, and she was sure she was on the verge of another breakdown. She clung to Illiad silently instead, not wanting to appear any weaker in Alucard's eyes than she was sure she already did.

A cold shiver passed through Integra's body as Alucard rested a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to shrug him off, to make him leave her be, but she was caught between the need to be alone and the need for the comforting touch of a friend. She clutched Illiad's head to her shoulder and closed her eyes, and heard a soft hiss from Eripmav.

_May we read your mind, Integra?_

Integra didn't-couldn't- answer, but felt the shifting of Illiad's head on her shoulder as her dæmon answered for her. She understood what Illiad was doing. Alucard needed to understand what troubled her so, and she knew he wouldn't let up until he had his answer, especially now that Integra was mute and virtually incapacitated.

Warmth rushed back to her when Alucard removed his hand from her shoulder, only to leave as quickly as it arrived when he placed his hand on her temple. His hand, though gloved, was cold on Integra's skin. She curled up tighter, trying to preserve any kind of warmth he may have left her. She found none.

She felt the same cold fingers gently sift through her mind, searching for the cause of her distress. She let Alucard wander freely, knowing that stopping him would only make matters worse. He would find what he wanted one way or another.

When Integra felt his probing fingers stop and linger in one area in her mind longer than in others, she knew he had found what he was searching for. He retreated with a sigh, the coldness of his probe flowing from her body. He hummed thoughtfully as he pulled his hand from Integra's head. He was then quiet for a long while, contemplating what it was he had seen. Then he spoke, concise, firm, and in a tone that offered no room for argument (not that Integra could give one anyway), "I'll get Walter."

Integra opened her eyes and watched as the last of Alucard's flowing red overcoat disappeared through the door. She stared mindlessly at the thick oaken doors. Her shaking had stopped, now that Alucard knew what plagued her, but she continued to lie stone-still on her bed, the sheets a tangled white mess around her. Her blonde hair hung in matted tresses over her shoulder and clung to her neck. Her suit hugged her tighter than usual and grew cold as the minutes ticked by. Finally, she hauled herself out of bed and slowly made her way to the bathroom with her nightclothes, now that she was awake enough to properly shower and change.

She took a slow shower, figuring Alucard would take his time getting to Walter. He was like that with her. He seemed to know what she would do before she did it, as though he found the thought deep in the back of her mind before it fully manifested itself. She could never quite get used to his apparent gift of foresight, but she did find it useful.

Integra shut the water off and got out before the urge to lay down and fall asleep in the warmth of the shower overtook her. She made sure to dry her hair well, then dressed and went back down the hall to her room.

Illiad jumped onto the bed as Integra crawled in and pulled the sheets over herself. The cat dæmon curled up against Integra's chest. They were silent, listening to the creaks and groans of the Hellsing mansion settled into its foundation.

The silence and stillness were enough to make Integra sleepy again, but the face of the ferret dæmon haunted her when she closed her eyes. She lay awake in the bed, caught between the need to sleep and the need to keep the dæmon's face out of her mind. It was an unfortunate cycle.

_Unfortunate indeed._

"A nightmare? She hasn't had a nightmare in years."

"Well, she has been looking over the reports of those unfortunate children torn from their dæmons for two days straight. Quite frankly, I'm not surprised at all."

Walter gave an exasperated sigh. "No, I don't suppose you would be," he muttered. He would never admit it to Alucard, but even he was surprised. The last time Alucard had come to him with the news that Integra had had a nightmare, she had been twelve years old and it had been one week after her uncle attempt on her life.

At the same time, though, part of Walter wasn't shocked at all. Integra had spent an awful lot of time poring over those reports hour after hour for the past two days. Something was bound to have stuck in her mind and haunt her in her sleep.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine." A smirk came and went on Alucard's face. There was clearly something the vampire knew that Walter didn't. And where Integra was concerned, it bothered Walter. He was in charge, even now, ten years later, of taking care of Integra. If anything were to happen to her under his watch, he would never forgive himself.

He started to push by Alucard, but the vampire stopped him with one arm. His wires tingled in his hands.

Bentley stiffened; his ears rose, his tail shot up. The fur along his back stood and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

Eripmav raised herself up and fanned her black hood defensively. She let out a hiss, her tail sweeping the carpet.

The two dæmons stood at a faceoff, stiff, growling, and hissing. Walter and Alucard let it happen; dæmons often decided dominance this way, and theirs did this often.

Finally, Bentley backed down with a huff. He sat down and turned his head to lick his shoulder. The altercation was decided: Bentley and Walter would wait until Alucard let them go. It agitated Walter, but he couldn't argue with the dæmons' decision.

So he stood there and waited, blocked by Alucard's arm, for what seemed like an eternity. They exchanged no words and their dæmons made no sounds.

When Alucard, at last, lowered his arm, his face was expressionless. He stood aside and let Walter pass. Walter brushed past him without so much as a sparing glance and went down the hall at a brisk pace. He didn't have to turn around to know that Alucard was trailing behind him.

Walter was greeted with a hoarse "Come in" when he knocked at Integra's door. He opened it and went inside, for a brief moment surprised that Alucard didn't follow him, but his concern for Integra weighed on him more than his wondering why the vampire didn't come with him. He shut the door behind him.

Integra was lying in the fetal position under the sheets, on hand hidden under her pillow and the other around Illiad. The dark circles under her eyes spelled her exhaustion. She stared at Walter with a bewildered expression for a short while before it finally seemed to dawn on her that he was there to see her. She sat up halfway. She was in her nightclothes now, rather than in the suit she had fallen asleep in. She must have changed after waking up; no wonder Alucard made Walter wait.

"Walter?" Integra's voice was strained and worn out.

Walter sighed. "Integra." He hadn't called her by her first name alone since before she was knighted. Doing so now made him feel more like a father to her than just her butler. He sat down at the edge of the bed as she threw the sheets off and sat up next to him. Bentley jumped onto the bed and curled protectively around Illiad.

Integra leaned into Walter, clearly upset. Walter put his arm around Integra and let her stay that way, knowing that it wouldn't be much longer before she didn't want him to hold this way. It disappointed him, but all he could do was take advantage of and enjoy these small moments with her.

He sighed, rubbing her shoulder. "It's been a while since you've had to call me during the night, hasn't it?" He said it with a smile, and although Integra couldn't see his face, he hoped she could hear the humor in his voice.

"It has." Her voice was rough, as though she 'd been screaming as loud as her vocal cords would allow. Could her nightmare really have been that bad?

"Are you all right, Miss Integra?"

Integra inched closer to Walter and took a breath. "I suppose so."

"Tell me about your nightmare."

"Walter..."

"I can't do anything for you unless I know exactly what's going on."

Integra took another breath, as though she was going to start speaking, but instead hesitated and was lost to Walter in her mind. He didn't press her, only waited until she was ready. He became so lost in his own thoughts that he hardly heard her when she spoke: "There was another dæmon."

_Huh?_ The words surprised him and snapped him back to reality. He looked down at Integra.

"It was a black-footed ferret," she said. "We were separated by some kind of barrier..."

Walter listened, horrified, as Integra described the blade that had come between her and a dæmon that wasn't hers. He had heard of this kind of process before, intercision, they called it, and he knew it was the worst possible fate to befall a human and her dæmon. Forgetting himself, he hugged Integra close, pained at the thought of the little girl he had nearly raised himself being subject to something as awful as that. He didn't have the heart to tell Integra that this was the name of the fate that the missing children had found: intercision, separated from their dæmons and made into two separate entities. She needed to rest, not be up for yet another night worrying about the children. She couldn't help them exhausted.

Integra put on arm around Walter. "I'll find the bastards, Walter," she vowed. "I'll find them."

"I don't doubt you will," he agreed, "just not today." He smoothed down her hair, wondering why it felt damp under his hands before he realized that she must have showered while Alucard made him wait in his room. The vampire always knew more than he let on. "Not until you're rested." He rubbed her back. "Get back in bed," he told her. "I promise you the perpetrators will still be there in the morning for you to find." Where _there_ was exactly, he wasn't sure, but he knew that one way or another Integra would find out.

As he stood, Bentley uncurled from around Illiad and leaped off the bed. Integra and Illiad crawled back under the sheets; Walter adjusted them slightly, something he hadn't done in years. "I'll wake you if I hear anything new."

A tired smile lit Integra's face. "Thank you, Walter."

Walter turned around at the door. "You're welcome, Miss Integra. Good night."

"Good night, Walter."

The door shut without an echo.


	4. A Child Without a Daemon

Walter let Integra sleep late into the next morning until the sun shone as brightly as it could through the gray England clouds and into her room. After having been up for two days and losing sleep the night before, Walter knew that Integra needed all the sleep she could get before she tackled her case head-on.

But he knew Integra would be unhappy with her extra sleep. She was Hellsing's director, she couldn't afford to sleep through the morning! Well, she could just this once, if she wanted to live long enough to still be called Hellsing's director.

Integra's sleep was dreamless and undisturbed after Walter's visit. She slept soundlessly through the rest of the night, not even woken by the faint light through her window. She didn't hear the click of the doorknob as Walter opened the door and came into her room, shutting it behind him with the same amount of force he used to open it.

He crossed the room and leaned over the bed, resting a hand on Integra's shoulder. She didn't react in the slightest. Walter gently rocked her. "Sir Integra."

Integra sighed and grumbled incomprehensibly. Walter shook her and called her again. "Sir Integra, wake up."

With a raspy breath, Integra shifted on the bed and tolled halfway onto her back, her eyes narrowed with sleep. Beside her, Illiad raised her head, yawned and shook it, waking herself up the best she could. Integra ran a hand over her face and blinked. She exhaled and squinted; her glasses lay on the nightstand beside her bed. "Walter?"

Walter stepped back from the bed as Integra pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her long, blonde hair hung tangled around her face. "What time is it?"

"A little after ten-thirty," Walter answered, and quickly pressed Integra down by her shoulder as disbelief formed on her face. "And before you begin panicking, we both know you needed the extra sleep."

"But what about-"

"I've been taking care of all your internal affairs for the time being, don't worry. You just needed to focus on resting up."

Integra nodded gratefully, then looked up at Walter. "I take it you've heard something new, then?"

"Yes." Walter released his grip on Integra, allowing her to sit up all the way. "I've received a call from the police department about another missing child. They've found him, and he's missing his dæmon."

The antique gold car pulled up just outside the perimeter, marked off with yellow caution tape and the unmistakable flash of red and blue police and ambulance lights. Officers were scattered around the perimeter, talking in hushed voices among themselves. On the sidewalk inside the marked area were five men, four officers and the police chief, around a small boy sitting on the pavement and wrapped in a gray blanket.

The sky had darkened since earlier that morning, Integra noticed as she stepped out of the car. The pale gray clouds had darkened to the color of ash, and the air felt thick with impending rain. There was a storm on the horizon, Integra knew. She could almost smell it.

She inhaled the sweet, thick air and pulled her overcoat tighter around her shoulders. She pushed her glasses up further on her nose and calmly made for the scene.

Integra ducked under the tape one of the officers held up for her; Illiad exchanged nods with the officer's black serval dæmon. She crossed the open space made by the vehicles and tape toward a group of officers and a young boy. The police chief had sat down next to the boy on the sidewalk, one hand on his shoulder, but as Integra grew closer, she knew that the boy needed more than just that.

His face was chalky and white; his eyes were bloodshot, red, and teary. He had dark circles under his eyes, darker than the ones Integra sported on her own face. His knees were drawn up tightly, and he shivered, despite the blanket he had pulled around him in a white-knuckle grip. He was hunched miserably over the street corner, and his dæmon was nowhere to be seen.

Integra's heart caught in her throat, her stomach twisted. She had only read in the reports about the children who had lost their dæmons. Until now, she had never met one personally. All the reading in the world, all the information she had, couldn't have prepared her for what she saw now. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock and heartache that came with this part of the job. She couldn't ignore her feelings, but at a time like this, she couldn't quite acknowledge them, either. She couldn't show herself to be as upset and bothered as she was in front of the police chief and his men.

Catching sight of her, the chief patted the boy on the back twice, then stood and met Integra halfway. He extended his hand to her. "Sir Integra," he said. "It's good to see you, though I wish the circumstances were better." He glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Thank you for coming."

"Chief Wilson," she said, taking his hand. "Thank you for calling. What's the situation?"

Wilson lowered his voice and turned Integra away from the boy by her shoulder. "A passerby saw him wandering down the street. She stopped him to see if he was all right and noticed he didn't have a dæmon. She called us." He indicated with a nod, west of the perimeter, where a short-haired woman was speaking frantically with another officer, her sparrow dæmon fluttering nervously by her shoulder. "I'm having her give a statement. We'll put it in our report to you."

Integra gave a curt nod, holding back a sigh. Just another report to add to the ever growing pile on her desk.

She looked over Chief Wilson's shoulder at the boy sitting on the curb. "May I speak with him?"

"If you'd like," Wilson invited. "But I can't guarantee anything."

_Mmm._ Integra didn't mind a challenge. Without another word she strode over to the boy, Illiad trotting tentatively at her heels. She felt the fear that pricked at Illiad's stomach but ignored it. The health and safety of this boy came before anything she felt.

The boy looked up at Integra and the officers cleared away as she sat down next to him. She sat closer to him than Wilson had, her hip against his. He blinked his tired eyes, unsure of what to make of her. He frowned as though he wanted to ask, but couldn't form the words.

Clearing her throat, Integra put her arm around the boy's shoulders. She had always been careful not to appear too soft around the men she worked with, but at times like these, there were just some things that required more of a...woman's touch.

And with that, the boy leaned into her. She didn't object, though she did look around to see what officers were watching her. She spotted the only female officer in the group, a short-haired blonde with a hedgehog dæmon, watching her curiously, and maybe hopefully. Why, Integra couldn't guess.

Integra ignored her, turning her focus to the boy. She made a mental check of Illiad crouching on her opposite side, hidden from the boy's view.

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

The boy was silent for a while before he finally said in a tired voice, "Samson. Samson Richards." He shifted and looked up at her. "What's your name?"

Integra smiled softly. "Integra Hellsing," she answered.

Samson forced a smile in return. "That's a pretty name," he said.

"Thank you. How old are you, Samson?"

"Six years old, miss," he said. "How old are you?"

Integra drew a shaky breath. Until then she only had names and ages to go by. Now she had a face to add to that. It did nothing to alleviate the sickness she felt. She cleared her throat again. "Nineteen."

"Do you have a job, Integra?"

"I do."

"What it is? Are you a police officer?"

"Not exactly," she said.

"What do you do?"

"I run the Hellsing Organization. Do you know what that is?"

Samson shook his head.

Integra paused, wondering how to explain to a six-year-old boy what her organization did on a daily basis. "The Hellsing Organization protects England from certain...monsters," she said slowly, explaining her organization's role in the simplest terms possible. "Ghouls...vampires..."

Samson stared up at her, brown eyes wide and, despite his lost dæmon, bright. "Wow," he breathed. "Really? Vampires are real?"

"Oh, yes." Integra nodded, feeling a pair of crimson eyes burning into her back from the shadows. "As real as you and I."

"She's good with him."

Walter turned, jolted out of his thoughts as the youngest of the police officers joined him by the car. She was a little over his shoulder, with short blonde hair and an innocent air about her despite her profession. In a way, he reminded her of a younger Integra. Her hedgehog dæmon made himself comfortable by her feet.

"Yes," Walter agreed, turning back to watch Integra and the young boy. "She is." He had never seen Integra interact with a child as young as this boy, six years old, he guessed. He never thought Integra had any patience for children, but as it stood now, she had the patience of a saint and the kindness of a mother-not something she showed too often, given the people she worked with. It was almost a nice change, to see her talking with a young child instead of men thirty years her senior and an ancient forever blood-thirsty vampire.

"Oh, what's your name, miss?" he asked the police girl, remembering his manners.

"Seras Victoria," she said, extending her hand. He took it. "Division Eleven. This is Rohan." She motioned to the hedgehog at her feet. "Say hello, Rohan."

The hedgehog gave something of a smile. _Hello, sir. Who are you?_

"Walter Dornez," he answered, and motioned to his own dæmon. "And Bentley."

The foxhound dipped his head. _A pleasure to meet you._

"If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Dornez-"

"Walter, please."

"Walter," she corrected herself. "Who is that?"

"Sir Integra Hellsing," Walter said. "Head of the Hellsing Organization."

Seras was silent for a while, leaning against the car and watching Integra's interaction with the boy. "I don't think I've heard of it before today," she said finally. "What is it you do exactly?"

Walter couldn't hold back a smile. "We protect our Queen and country from supernatural threats," he explained. "Shall we say 'things that go bump in the night?'"

The questioning yet too-scared-to-ask expression on the young police girl's face told Walter that he had done a well enough job of explaining to her the operations of Hellsing without giving away too much. If she had never believed in vampires, werewolves, or monsters under the bed, he was sure she would think twice now.

Then she cleared her throat and asked, "Is...is that so?" She was trying to put on a brave face, but Walter had seen enough reactions at the news of Hellsing's business to know that she was unsettled. At her feet, her dæmon bristled and let out a series of low hisses. Bentley's ears went up, intrigued by the little animal's noises.

_Don't touch him, Bentley,_ Walter warned. The last thing he wanted was the feeling of being stuck in the face by a hedgehog.

_Of course not,_ Bentley said, straightening. _I've no intentions of doing so._

Walter let the matter go. "Yes," he said, addressing Seras, "it is. Tell me something, Miss Victoria, how many other cases of this have you seen?" He nodded toward the boy sitting on the curb, his face pressed into Integra's ribcage.

"Dozens," she said uncertainly. "Maybe close to hundreds. I don't know. There have been so many at once I've lost count."

"Do you know where they come from?"

"No." Seras shook her head. "We get calls from parents only a few minutes after they discover their child's gone missing, they didn't get off the school bus, they didn't come home from the park, it varies each time. We go out and look in every place the parents last saw their child. Naturally, we assume the worst and treat the case as though we're running on limited time, of course. We've never found a child until five days, sometimes a week, after it's gone missing." She stopped, her eyes growing misty. She picked up Rohan and held him close to her, unable to imagine what it must be like to be cut from your dæmon, your soul. What it would be like without Rohan was something she didn't want to think about.

Even Walter felt the same way. He put a hand on Bentley's shoulder and pressed the foxhound dæmon close to his leg. Bentley had been with him for sixty-nine years, through thick and thin, through good and bad. To lose him...Walter couldn't even begin to think about it.

"Do they all come back the same way?" he asked gently.

Seras nodded slowly. "Yes. But we never see any of them live past two days."

Bentley whined softly. Walter's stomach twisted. "Why is that, do you think?"

It was a moment or two before Seras answered. "They're young," she said finally. "They're closer to their dæmons than anyone gives them credit for, I think. At this age, their dæmons are their best friends, the ones who are always there for them. Losing your dæmon, for these children, is like losing your best friend, but on a deeper level. Have you ever lost a best friend, Walter, and you felt like you couldn't live without them? I think that's what it's like for these children. And it's hard for them to go on afterward. Human friends can be replaced, but dæmons...those you can never get back."

"Do you think you can tell me what happened, Samson?" Integra asked gently. She'd gotten to know the boy well enough. Now she needed to try and figure out who had done this to him.

"I think so. I don't remember much."

"That's quite alright. Tell me anything you can."

"Well..." He pushed himself up into a straighter sitting position, but still leaned against Integra. He reached up to wipe his already red eyes. "I know I was in the park with John and Willy, we were playing hide and seek, right. John was it; Willy and I were hiding. I found a good place behind a bush, and I was waiting for John to come find me, and this lady came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder."

"Do you know what she looked like?"

"Uhh, oh, well she had a big gray wolf dæmon and I think she was blonde...and I couldn't really see her eyes because the sun kept making her glasses shine. And I think she had a...a German accent. Oh, and she wore all black, like a robe, or something, I think."

That was the most information Integra had ever gotten on the kidnappers, more than the records on her desk could ever tell her. She felt a little spark of hope. "Did she say anything to you?" she pressed, anxious now. "Did she tell you her name?"

"No. She just said she wanted to talk to me about Grayla, that's my dæmon's name. I said okay and went to talk to her and then...I don't know. I don't know what happened after that."

"What about when you woke up?"

Samson shrugged. "There were more people dressed in black, and this one man with white hair. He said he was going to help me, but..." He trailed off, sniffing.

"He took your dæmon," Integra finished softly.

The boy nodded, taking a grip on her blazer with one hand. She let him. "I want Grayla. Do you know where she is?"

Integra rubbed Samson's shoulder. "I don't," she admitted. "But I'm trying to find out."

"Can you bring her back?" Samson asked hopefully, looking up at her.

Integra took a moment to answer. Bringing a lost dæmon back to its counterpart was one thing, that was easy as long as you knew where it was. But reconnecting them was something else, impossible. Once it was severed, there was no repairing the bond between human and dæmon. That Integra knew of.

"Yes," she said finally. "I can bring her back."

Samson nodded a thank you, and his next question surprised Integra, though she wasn't sure why. "Where's your dæmon?"

She looked over at Illiad, crouched against her side, hidden from Samson's view so as to not upset him further. "She's here," Integra said. _Say hello, Illiad._

Illiad's head snapped up. _Only because he's asking to see me._ She stood and leaped into Integra's lap, blue eyes watching Samson carefully. _Hello, Samson._

"Hi, Illiad." Then he turned his attention to Integra. "Your dæmon is a girl," he observed. "I thought everyone's dæmon was the opposite gender."

_Not everyone's,_ Illiad said, shaking her head. _There's a reason why some of us have same-sex dæmons and others don't._ Illiad flicked an ear toward Integra. In their line of work, in regard to the people they dealt with on a daily basis, they were the only two females around. It was only reasonable to assume that Integra needed another female around, and so Illiad's gender matched that of her counterpart. For Illiad to have been a male would have truly put Integra at odds with the world.

Samson simply accepted the information. He didn't ask why, and he didn't ask about anyone else who might have had a same-sex dæmon. Meaning, to Integra's relief, he didn't ask about Walter and Bentley. She wasn't even sure why they shared the same gender.

He leaned into Integra again, adjusting his grip on her blazer. He watched Illiad with tired eyes, but with longing.

Illiad wilted visibly before Integra's eyes. She looked up at her counterpart. _Oh, Integra, if I could touch him, I would. This poor boy..._

Shock sparked in Integra's heart. Illiad was her dæmon! She was forbidden to touch another human! "Illiad."

But her dæmon wasn't listening. She was watching Samson.

" _No._ " Integra lowered her voice to an insistent whisper. She could never allow her dæmon to cross that vital boundary. But despite being bound to Integra at every possible level, Illiad was as independent as her counterpart. If she had her mind set on doing something, it was virtually impossible to derail her from doing so, so long as it didn't harm herself or Integra.

_Integra, please,_ Illiad pleaded. _How would you feel if you were in this poor boy's position?_

Integra sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Illiad had a point. She would have felt the same longing for her dæmon that Samson felt for his. " _Gently,_ " she hissed through her teeth.

_I would never mean to hurt you,_ Illiad said. She inched forward on Integra's lap until she was close enough to offer her paw to Samson. The boy, though hesitant, let his grip on Integra's blazer go, reached out and took Illiad's paw. Illiad rested her muzzle on Samson's head.

Integra felt her limbs grow weak and at the same time felt a rush of warmth, making her face hot. She didn't feel that this was a violation of the contact rule, but rather the establishment of a promise to mend what was broken. But she was still fighting off feeling dizzy and sick.

She had never let anyone touch her dæmon before, not even her own father, not even Walter, and certainly not even Alucard. She was uneasy with the contact but forced herself to let it go. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, hoping that Illiad's contact was discreet enough to overlook. To her relief, no one on the police force took notice, not even the young girl who had been so intent on watching Integra earlier, but Walter was standing outside the perimeter with a mortified expression on his face. Perhaps he had never thought of Integra as the kind of person to allow someone to touch her dæmon, or perhaps he knew something in the dangers of allowing another person to touch someone's dæmon. Either way, she had the distinct feeling she was going to hear about this when she got back in the car.

Integra let them stay touching, as it seemed to calm Samson until she spotted the police chief coming toward her. She nudged Illiad softly with her free hand. "Illiad."

Illiad's head went up and she looked around, momentarily confused. Upon seeing Chief Wilson coming near, she pulled away from Samson with a hurried apology. The warmth rushed out of Integra, leaving her cold. She gave an involuntary shiver.

"Sir Integra," Wilson said at the same time that Illiad leaped off Integra's lap and back onto the sidewalk. "Mr. and Mrs. Richards are here to pick up their son." He looked over his shoulder at a worried couple waiting anxiously outside the perimeter. "They said his name is Samson."

"Yes," Integra confirmed. "I'll be sure to bring him over as soon as we're finished. Thank you, Chief Wilson."

He nodded and walked slowly back toward Samson's waiting parents.

Integra watched him leave before turning her attention back to Samson. She found him looking up at her with a mix of wonder and admiration.

" _Sir_ Integra?" he echoed. "Are you a knight?"

"Yes," Integra answered slowly. "I am."

Samson tipped his head with a confused frown. "But where's your shining armor?" he asked. "And your horse?"

Integra chuckled and smiled. "No, Samson, I'm not that kind of knight."

"But you _are_ still a knight?"

"Yes."

"Wow," Samson breathed. "I've never met a real knight before. Can I tell my parents?" He seemed more alert and talkative now that he had had that dose of contact with Illiad.

"Of course," she said. "But, Samson, you have to promise me something." She got off the sidewalk and crouched in front of him. She took his small, pale hands in her gloved ones and looked him in the eye. "You have to promise me you won't give up on life," she said. "It's going to be hard without Grayla, and I'm going to find her, but you have to promise me you won't give up. Can you do that for me?"

Samson's eyes were tearing up again. "You'll find her?"

"Yes," Integra nodded. "I'll find her."

In an act that surprised Integra, Samson lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her neck, his face buried in her hair. It took a little time for her to register what was happening before she returned the child's hug.

Illiad gave her a cat grin from where she sat on the sidewalk. _He's a good boy_.

Integra smiled back to her dæmon in reply.

Then Samson pulled away quicker than she expected. "There's something I forgot to tell you," he said.

"What's that?" Integra asked, standing up.

"Those people I told you about, the ones in black, they all had crosses hanging around their necks, like the one on your bow."


	5. An Empty Bed

The rain had dampened the ground too much for the children to play outside. Father Alexander Andersen and the other nuns who ran the orphanage had been given no choice but to keep the children indoors for the day. The rain had since stopped, but the ground was still too wet for outdoor activities, and there were too many children for the nuns to bathe in one day.

So instead the children were allowed to run through the halls with their dæmons at their sides, shifting and changing forms as they went. The nuns scolded the children when they became too loud or too reckless, and had even had to break up two boys who were close to getting into a fight.

Andersen watched from afar. He had always enjoyed watching the innocent joys of childhood, even the conflicts the children got into with each other. It was a part of life, and as always, life goes on.

His Irish Wolfhound dæmon Andreas laid at Andersen's side and watched the children and their ever-changing dæmons. He, too, enjoyed watching the children, and on days when he was feeling rather adventurous, he enjoyed playing with them. Andersen and Andreas weren't sticklers about the contact rule. Instead, they were quite relaxed about it, but only with the children. The children loved Andreas dearly, enough to have affectionately nicknamed him "Andy." He let them poke him when he played tag with them; he had no issues with hugs, as he received these anyway from the children who arrived new at the orphanage and needed comfort, and he certainly had no issues with other dæmons climbing on him. He himself had broken up a scuffle or two, not between the dæmons, but between the children. He was more than proficient when it came to that.

On this particular day, though, Andreas chose to remain at Andersen's side. He preferred to sit back and watch instead of taking part; he was feeling rather relaxed on that rainy day, and yet at the same time he felt that something was amiss and needed his undivided attention.

Andersen felt his dæmon's unease as though it were his own. He felt the slight twinge in his stomach and the tension that ran through Andreas's muscles. His dæmon was watching for something or someone, but Andersen didn't know who or what.

"What bothers you, Andreas?" he asked finally.

_I'm not sure,_ Andreas answered, his ears up and his eyes darting back and forth as the children ran past him. _Something just doesn't feel right, Alexander. I just can't put my paw on it. Something's wrong, Alexander, I'm sure of it._

Andersen trusted him. Andreas's intuition had never been wrong before. The Wolfhound had saved their hides countless times before, always when dealing with Hellsing's pet vampire, Alucard. The monster had never gotten the better of them, though he tried to. He enjoyed attempting to sneak up on them when he thought they weren't expecting it, but Andreas knew better. He hearing was sharp and his sense of smell was incomparable. Nothing got past him.

Two boys broke Andersen out of his thoughts when they ran up to him. "Father Andersen," one said, a six-year-old named Arturo, "have you seen Rafael?"

Andreas's head shot up, his ears a high as his anatomy would allow. He was on high alert.

"No," Andersen answered slowly. "I haven't. Why?"

"We wanted to play _Lupo Mangia Frutta_ with him and Roberto and Luigi," said the second boy, Antonio, "but we can't find him anywhere."

Andersen looked down at Andreas and caught his dæmon's eye.

_This is it, Alexander_.

"Would you like me to look for him?"

The boys nodded.

"All right. Give me a little while then."

Andreas practically jumped to his paws and followed Andersen down the hall to where the nuns were watching the children. He waited anxiously as Andersen asked each one if they had seen Rafael that morning, and when each one said no, she hadn't, he paced nervously in a circle until Andersen was finished.

They went upstairs and down the hall to Rafael's room. Perhaps the boy had wanted to read a book. Andersen knew he had started one; he couldn't remember the title, something about cats, he was sure. Andreas went on ahead of him, too anxious to wait any longer.

Then Andersen felt an overwhelming sense of fear. He rounded the corner to find Andreas standing outside the door, his fur up. A low growl came from him.

"What wrong, Andreas?" he asked.

_Get down here._ There was an urgent, commanding tone to Andreas's voice, one he never used unless something was unspeakably wrong. He didn't take his eyes off the room.

Andersen went down that hall at a brisk pace until he was at his dæmon's side. He followed Andreas's line of vision until he was staring at an empty bed of tangled white sheets.

Yes, Andersen told himself, this was Rafael's room, this was Rafael's room. But it was empty. The bed was a mess, as though he'd tried to fight his way out from underneath the sheets, or as though someone had tried to snatch him out of his bed. And succeeded.

How could this have happened? How could he have _allowed_ this to happen? He was supposed to protect these children, not see them taken by intruders!

The thought of some deranged lunatic sneaking into the orphanage wasn't what first came into Andersen's mind. What first came into his mind were the stories of the children disappearing from the streets without a trace. No one ever saw or heard anything, and by the time they realized the children were gone, it was too late to do anything. And then a week later they'd reappear, hollow-eyed and dæmonless. Someone was taking children off the streets and cutting away their dæmons.

And it wasn't just in England, either. It was all across Europe. Mostly the children were from England, but there were children from Germany, France, Italy, Spain...the list seemed to never end. Rome especially had been hit quite hard by this plague, and from what Enrico Maxwell told him from Iscariot's informant, the plague was quite bad in London as well. It seemed as though their countries had suffered the worst. And that set a spark off in Andersen's mind.

He gripped the handle of one of his bayonets. He wasn't going to put it past those bastards in England to _not_ steal dæmons from children. They were already harboring one monster; what was a little unholy experimentation to go with it?

"Can you smell anyone?"

Andreas looked up at him, finally taking his eyes off the room. He tipped his head at Andersen questioningly, wondering what it was his counterpart had in mind. He looked back at the room and took a few minutes to sniff every inch, every corner of it, but found nothing. He shook his head. _Nothing._

"Nothing?" Andersen echoed, gripping the handle tighter.

_Not even a hair._

Andreas had the sharpest sense of smell there was, and something had gotten by it. Humans always left a scent trail wherever they went, that was what made them easy to track down. But vampires, on the other hand, unless they had fed recently, offered no scent trail to follow. It was entirely possible.

"Do you think Hellsing could have been involved?"

_Hellsing?_ Andreas's ears went up. _And that beast of a woman Integra?_ He snorted. _Somehow it wouldn't surprise me. They are just full of monsters and heresy, aren't they? What's a little kidnapping and cutting to them?_

"My thoughts exactly. I think Maxwell needs to hear about this."

The monotone, repetitive drawl of an office phone echoed in the vacant office of Iscariot head priest Father Enrico Maxwell. No one was near enough to the office to hear the ringing, including Maxwell, who was two floors below his office at the time of the call.

It was his white-tailed deer dæmon, Calidor, who alerted him to the sound. The buck had the sharpest hearing Maxwell had ever known, and nothing, not even the faint drone of the office phone, escaped his ears. He went on ahead of Maxwell as they entered the stairway of the floor beneath the office. The distance began to pull on them both, but over time they had become used to the feeling.

Calidor entered the office just as the answering machine picked up. He knocked the phone off its stand with one swing of his antlers. He adjusted it as it bounced onto the desk and pressed his ear against the receiver. _  
_Pronto?__

"Calidor?" The buck recognized the accent on the other end of the phone.

_Father Andersen,_ he said. _What can I do for you?_

"Is Father Maxwell there?" Andersen asked. "I need to speak with him."

Calidor raised his head and peered down the hall. He could see Maxwell coming up from the stairwell. The pull of the distance between them was beginning to lessen. He ducked his head down toward the phone again. _Yes, he's on his way up. Can you please wait a moment?_

There was a sigh on Andersen's end of the phone. "Yes, I can wait." Calidor took note of the irritation and perhaps anxiousness in Andersen's voice. Whatever it was he needed to share with Maxwell, it must have been urgent.

The buck cantered out into the hall to meet Maxwell halfway. _Father Andersen is on the phone for you,_ he reported. _He needs to speak to you. As soon as possible, I would imagine._

"Did he say what it was about?" Maxwell asked.

_No, nothing more than what I've told you._

Maxwell nodded and walked brisk pace to his office, Calidor trotting after him. He picked up the phone and took over the conversation. "Yes, Andersen, what can I do for you?"

"There's been an incident at the orphanage," Andersen said. "I'm on my way to Vatican City."

"This isn't something we can discuss over the phone, I take it?"

"No. I don't want to take any chances. I need to speak to you in person."

"How long will it take you to get here?"

"Twenty minutes at the most." Calidor heard the static bump of a car in the background as it ran over a hole in the road.

"I'll be waiting for you, then," Maxwell answered, and placed the phone down on the stand.

The remaining twenty minutes to Vatican City went by slower than Andersen had anticipated. He kept searching for the dome of the church to rise up against the sky among the other cathedrals and churches scattered throughout Rome.

Andreas fidgeted in the back seat. _We_ are _cl_ ose, _aren't we?_ he asked, looking anxiously out the window.

"Yes," Andersen said, looking up. He could see the spire of the dome peaking above the horizon. "We're very close."

The leather creaked as Andreas turned an awkward circle and settled down. _Won't be long now._ The Irish Wolfhound was certainly anxious. He talked too much or too little and always in riddles of sorts when he grew anxious. He had never outgrown the habit and Andersen was sure he never would. _Not long, not long, not long._

_No,_ Andersen thought as the dome of the Vatican came into view. _Not long now_.

Andersen hardly had to knock on Iscariot's door when it practically opened under his hand. He spotted the dæmon, a golden leopard, before he spotted its counterpart.

Marna Hadrian was the only member of Iscariot, and the only religious resident Andersen knew of, who had a leopard dæmon. It was clear this fact unsettled her when she was around Maxwell and Andersen, given how religious they were and what the leopard symbolized in Christianity. Her dæmon grew unsettled as well in these situations. He ducked behind Marna, his head low as he peeked out from behind her.

"Father Andersen," Marna said sheepishly, taking a step backward. "Father Maxwell is expecting you." She stepped aside to let the Paladin in.

"Thank you, Marna." After six years with Iscariot, the young nun still grew nervous around her superiors, even though none of them had ever made plans, or were going to make plans, to penalize her for the settled form of her dæmon. He stepped into the hall and looked up towards the staircase that led to Maxwell's office. "Will he see me now?" he asked. He had waited long enough already just getting there.

"Yes," Marna said. He's been waiting for you since you called."

"Thank you again, Marna," Andersen said, heading for the stairs. He heard the nun utter an embarrassed "You're welcome" as he went up the stairs.

He knew Maxwell was expecting him but knocked on the door anyway out of courtesy. He heard a muffled "Come in" from the other side, and opened the door to find Maxwell seated at his desk, his hands folded over a thin stack of papers. Andersen didn't see Calidor until the buck's head appeared behind the desk as he stood.

Andersen stepped into the office, shutting the door softly behind him after making sure Andreas was all the way through.

"Andersen," Maxwell said. "How can I help you. You said there was an incident at the orphanage."

Andersen crossed the opened space to Maxwell's desk. "Yes, sir," he said. "One of the children has gone missing. Rafael Di Angelo."

Alarm flashed in their faces. Maxwell gathered up the papers on his desk, tapped them into a neat pile, and filed them away in a drawer. Andersen caught a glimpse of Iscariot's emblem, as well as one he didn't recognize. It appeared to be that of an eagle, or so he thought, grasping a ring in its talons. He couldn't see the paper long enough to know what was in the ring. He bristled. Was Maxwell hiding something from him?

It wasn't unlikely, he had to admit, but in a case where a child was missing and it might help find him, Andersen didn't like being kept in the dark. For now, though, he would let it go.

"How long has he been missing?" Maxwell asked.

Andersen pushed the strange emblem out of his mind and checked the clock. It was afternoon now. Rafael could have gone missing during the night. He could have gone missing early this morning before the nuns woke, for all Andersen knew. There was no telling.

"I'm not sure. No one heard anything. It's hard to tell."

"This does complicate things," Maxwell mused. "We know that someone has been kidnapping children off the streets. Never before have they infiltrated a building to steal a child. If no one has heard anything, then Rafael could be well away from Rome and possibly Italy."

Andersen agreed with him, there was no other choice. Rafael could have been anywhere, outside of Rome and the country included. But there was something else that bothered him even more. "Sir, these children are coming back severed from their dæmons and hollow shells of their former selves. We both know what happens when dæmons settle, but we would never go so far as to take a dæmon away."

As the words came out of his mouth, however, they felt dry and empty, as though there was no real meaning to them. Andersen meant every word he said but still, they felt hollow. Somewhere back in history, he knew that the Church had given the General Oblation Board the green light to sever children from their dæmons. For one hundred-fifty years after that time, the Church shut the G.O.B. down. It wasn't until thirty years ago or so that the Board was reinstated and was given its first head since Marisa Coulter ran it nearly two centuries ago.

He didn't know exactly what it was the Board did, but he knew they would never go into cutting again unless they wanted to be shut down for the second time. There was that fear of repeating history that hung over the members like a dark cloud waiting to burst open. And yet there was something else.

Was it possible that England had a similar Board of its own? Could it be that _Hellsing_ was acting as the Protestant country's General Oblation Board? It would make sense, Andersen mused.

"I have my suspicions, sir," he added before the thought could get away from him.

Maxwell folded his hands over his mouth. "Suspicions of whom?"

_Hellsing_ , Andreas answered. _Tell me, Father, would you put it past though monsters to take a child's dæmon away?_

A frown darkened Maxwell's face. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose not. Father Andersen, if you feel the need to...investigate, let's say, you may. But stay discreet. We mustn't let Hellsing know we suspect them of anything."

"Of course, sir."

"In the meantime, I shall do what I can to find Rafael. I will let you know if there are any further developments."

Andersen nodded and turned to leave. "Thank you, sir. Good day to you."

"And to you, Andersen."

Andreas trotted out next to Andersen, occasionally looking back over his shoulder, even long after they had left the office. _Something isn't right, Alexander. I think Maxwell is hiding something from us. I think he knows more than he's letting on. What are we going to do?_

Andersen took note of Marna's absence by the door as he left the building. Perhaps she had been assigned elsewhere. "Exactly what Maxwell suggested," he answered his dæmon. "Conduct my own investigation."

The Irish Wolfhound's ears perked up as he leaped into the backseat of the car, somewhat calmer now. _We're going to England, aren't we?_

"Yes," Andersen said, "but not yet."

_What are you waiting for?_

"If anything," he said, "the right time."


	6. The Silver Guillotine, Part 1

_Andersen is distracted._

"That works well for us, doesn't?"

_I suppose. But Andreas is suspicious._

"They're bothersome. Why can't we just cut them?"

_That would do us no good. Andersen is a powerful ally. Without his dæmon, what is he?_

"I suppose you're right. When will we be ready?"

_Soon. There are only a few more tests to perform before we can move forward._

"Good. I'm beginning to get impatient. I want to cut her as soon as possible. She's as much of a nuisance as Andersen!"

_We agree on something, then. Just give it time. We'll get to her soon enough._

"All right. Well, come on then. We have business to attend to and we can't keep it waiting!"

_No. Of course not._

This wasn't his bed.

That was the first thought that came to Rafael as he woke on a surface harder and colder than his mattress. The surface was flat and white and not at all comfortable. Rafael promised himself he would never again complain about the feeling of his bed.

He sat up, head throbbing, and leaned back against a wall as cold and hard as the floor and looked around. He was in a small compartment of sorts, surrounded on two sides by mesh wiring. In front of him was a third wall, this one made of glass infused with thin metal wiring. The rest of the compartment was solid white.

Outside the compartment were walls of gray stone, dimly lit by a dying light on the ceiling. He could just make out the shapes of panels on stands against the walls, but what was on them, he couldn't tell.

He looked around the inside of the compartment he was in more any way to possibly get out, but the walls were smooth and without a niche of any kind.

Rafael rested his head back against the wall. He had been given something that was making his head throb every time he turned it. Even the light irritated his head. He couldn't remember what he had been given and he couldn't remember how he'd gotten into that compartment.

And then, as he thought about it, he couldn't remember where his dæmon was. The shock of not knowing where she was enough to snap him out of his headache, and he began to search frantically around him. She wasn't in his side of the compartment and she wasn’t outside of the compartment, as far as he could see. She wasn't far, either, because he didn't feel a pull. So where was she?

In his nervous searching, Rafael almost failed to see his dæmon lying in the compartment beside him. He nearly missed her pale gray rabbit fur among the white walls and gray wiring of the compartment.

He knew she couldn't be unconscious, otherwise, he would be too. Most likely she was just resting, like him, and trying to come out from under the effect of whatever they had been given. He reached forward and tapped on the glass to get her attention.

Her head shot up, leading to an intense throbbing in Rafael's head, and most likely his dæmon's head. _Sorry, Raffie,_ she said, drawing a paw over her face.

"That's okay, Ursa," he replied, rubbing his forehead. He leaned back against the cold wall and looked slowly from side to side. "Where are we?"

Ursa looked slowly around the compartment the same way Rafael did. _I don't know._

Rafael squirmed nervously, worried. "Do you think Father Andersen is worried about us?"

_Of course he is. He's always been worried about us, you know that._

He nodded in agreement, slumping further down against the wall. Father Andersen had been worried about him and Ursa ever since they arrived at the orphanage. He'd had a particularly rough transition, tossed around from family member to family member after his parents died in a bus accident ten months ago in Rome. Finally, he had found his way into the orphanage with Father Andersen and the kind nuns who ran it. They took him in and made sure he was well cared for.

"Do you think he's out looking for us right now?"

_Yes. And I know he and Andy won't rest until they find us._

Rafael smiled at the thought and they fell into silence for a while.

Then, _Raffie, what's this thing we're in? It's cold._

"I don't know, Ursa." He kicked experimentally at the middle barrier, just to see what would happen. The wall didn't budge. "What do you think it's for?"

_Non lo so_ , she answered, one ear twitching. Rafael felt a twinge as she tried to shift form to no avail. They were still too weak for Ursa to do any form changing anytime soon.

"Ursa, I want Andy." He missed Father Andersen's Irish wolfhound dæmon.

_I do, too, Raffie._ Flattening her ears against her head, Ursa hunched down and rested her chin on the floor. Rafael could see her nose twitching as she took in the air of this strange, new environment.

They sat in silence for a while, trying to recover from the strange drug they had evidently been given. They wanted nothing more than to feel each other's warmth and comfort, but the barrier prevented that. Rafael's stomach twisted at the thought of being separated from his dæmon. He'd always had Ursa with him, and she was going to be with him forever and ever. There may have been a barrier in between them now, but it wasn't going to be there forever. Someone had to let them out sometime.

Ursa's ears twitched occasionally. Rafael knew she was listening to the world outside the room they were in. He wasn't sure how much she could hear, if she could hear anything at all. Then, to his surprise, she shot up, standing on her hind legs. Her ears stood straight and stiff, angled toward the door.

Rafael pushed himself up. "What is it, Ursa?"

_There's someone out there._

"Is it Father Andersen?"

_No._ Ursa's nose twitched wildly. _I don't know who it is. I've never smelled them before._

"Maybe they're here to help us."

_Maybe..._ She returned to all four paws, alert, her head high. They both jumped when they heard the click of a key being put into the keyhole on the door, and watched silently as the doors opened with a creak and five people and their dæmons entered the room. Of the five, only four were dressed in black robes, with simple wooden crosses hung around their necks. The fifth member of the group was not dressed like the others. He was instead dressed in black pants and a purple-and-white shirt, buttoned up the front with gold buttons. His silver hair was pulled back behind him in a ponytail.

Immediately, Rafael didn't like the look of this man. He didn't come off as kind or gentle like Father Andersen. Instead, he struck Rafael as cruel and uncaring, and his dæmon didn't appear to be much better.

"Who are you?" Rafael asked, crawling to the front of the compartment.

The man dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "That is not important now," he said. His voice was deep and husky and laced with a light Italian accent. He didn't sound kind, either.

As he spoke, the four people behind him fanned out and disappeared from Rafael's view, only to reappear a few moments later at the tables around the perimeter of the room. "What are they doing?" he asked.

"They're just here to help," the man answered, still with the same dismissive and passive tone.

"Help with what?"

"Nothing but a little test."

"What kind of test?"

Finally, the buck dæmon stamped his hoof on the ground. _Stai zitto!_ he snorted. _You ask too many questions, boy!_

Rafael recoiled, insulted. If this man was a priest, as he thought he was, then he certainly didn't act like it! And his dæmon was so rude! What would Father Andersen think when he found out?

"Now," the man said with an irritated huff, "if there are no further questions, I'd like to continue."

_Fine,_ Rafael thought irritably. _I just want to go home._

With a satisfied nod, the man turned his attention away from Rafael and to the people behind the compartments. "Are you ready?" he demanded. "Is everything set up?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer. "Everything's ready."

"Good." He gave another nod, one Rafael felt in his gut was the affirmative to start this... "test."

Not too soon after the order, the compartment Rafael and Ursa were in began to shake and hum softly. They looked around, not understanding what was happening until they saw a silver-blue light at the top of the middle barrier.

"Ursa?"

_Raffie, what is that?_

Rafael didn't answer; he didn't know. And even if he had known what it was, he wouldn't have known how to explain it. Whatever it was, it was making him hurt. He could feel a dull ache somewhere deep inside, where it was impossible to ever reach physically. He didn't understand what was going on until the light lowered, and the pains he was feeling began to worsen. Only then did he understand that this machine, whatever it was, was trying to take Ursa from him. And the realization was made even colder by the fact that the silver-haired man was doing nothing to stop it, but was instead standing by and watching coldly with a savage anticipation in his violet eyes.

_You monster!_ Rafael turned and kicked at the glass, panic taking over as the light grew lower and lower. In a few minutes, his Ursa was no longer going to be his. "Ursa! Ursa!"

And she knew this too. She scratched at the glass with her claws but barely left a mark. _Rafael!_ She threw her full weight at the glass with no results.

As the pain Rafael was feeling deep inside intensified, he blows on the glass weakened. He slumped to the floor, his vision blurred with pain and tears, as his dæmon dropped to the floor. The light in the chamber glowed brighter before it reached the bottom and was doused in a rain of black.

_Ursa!_

Rikku was a dæmon of few words. He rarely spoke to anyone, even his own counterpart, and when he did it was no more than three or four words. But those words always carried a heavy meaning to them.

_This is wrong._

They were the first words she had heard Rikku say in six years. It was the most she had heard him say in a longer time than that.

She looked at him, surprised. "Rikku?"

_This is wrong._ His voice was thick and raspy, laced with a semi-heavy Italian accent. His voice was beautiful; she almost wished he would talk more.

She nodded in agreement. She knew exactly what he meant. "I know." She'd only wanted to live out a religious life. Now she and Rikku were caught up in a scheme beyond their understanding. "But what can we do? We don't have the authority to stop them." And with Rikku's form what it was, she never would.

Rikku rested his head on his paws, distressed. _We should have told Father Andersen._

Six words were the most Rikku had ever said in his short life on earth. It was too much by her standards. She wished he would stop.

"But he couldn't have protected us from the General Oblation Board if word ever got to them."

Rikku snorted in disgust, but for the time being, said no more.

His counterpart hugged her knees, as distressed as he was, and rested her chin the dip of her nightgown. How far they had fallen from their original intentions. Not through any fault of their own, but through the actions of their organization. They had become caught up in something so much bigger than they knew how to handle, and now it had gotten so out of control that there was nothing they could do about it. Even if they did go to their superiors, they knew the blame would come straight back to them. And from there...Rikku only imagined that his bonded life with his counterpart would be dramatically and traumatically shortened.

He heard his counterpart's thought echo in his mind: _I don't want to be here._

Right then and there they decided: when this was over and through with, they were going to leave it all behind and never look back.


	7. Plots, Plans, and Ancient History, Part 1

Samson sat in the back seat, holding tight to his father's dæmon, Panja, for warmth and comfort. She was in the form of a thick-furred Coquerel's sifaka lemur and was trying to stay relaxed, though Samson could feel she was uncomfortable with the close contact. He knew she was only doing it for his sake because now he had no dæmon to hold.

He pressed his face into her shoulder fur, inhaling the scent of his father's cologne and listening to the rain and the squeak of the windshield wipers on the window. Panja smelled of home, a scent Samson felt he hadn't smelled in a long time. He couldn't remember the last time he had been home. It seemed like so long ago...

"How are you feeling, Sammy?" His father's voice snapped him back to the present. He looked up at his father, sitting in the passenger seat. It was Samson's mother who drove, as it would have been difficult for his father to drive while he was holding his dæmon. Beside him was his mother's dæmon, a bright-coated red setter, who glanced occasionally at Samson and Panja, but said nothing.

Samson leaned into Panja, pressing his face further into her thick fur. _I want Grayla_. He shrugged. "Okay."

His parents exchanged glances. He knew they were worried. But there was nothing they could do, not unless they could find Grayla and bring her back.

He tightened his grip slightly around Panja. As much as he wanted to go home, he wanted Grayla even more.

Wasn't there some way he could see her? _Any_ way at all?

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a little while...

For a moment he felt the comforting warmth and the friendly pull of sleep, then he was jerked awake by Panja's voice.

_Samson!_

Samson's eyes snapped open. He found Panja bristling in his arms and his mother's dæmon growling softly next to him. The car had been pulled over, and his parents had whirled around in their seats, anxious.

He raised his head from Panja's fur and looked at each pair in turn, not understanding why everyone was so worried. All he'd wanted to do was sleep and maybe dream about Grayla. He'd always heard that you could dream about the ones you love if you think about them enough before you went to sleep. He was sure he could have done that with Grayla. What was so wrong with that?

He blinked at his parents, confused. "What's wrong?"

His parents exchanged glances. "You fell asleep for a little bit," his father said. "We were worried..."

Samson frowned. Did they think he was going to fall asleep permanently, like his dog Leo had last year? He hadn't planned on it. He just wanted to see Grayla.

"I'm okay," he said. "Really. I'm just tired." _And I want Grayla._

"Are you sure that's all, love?" his mother asked. "Is it...?"

"I miss Grayla," he muttered.

"I know, buddy," his father said. "Miss Hellsing said it would be hard-"

"Sir," Samson interrupted. "It's Sir Hellsing. She's a knight." He pressed his face into Panja's fur, looking up at his parents.

His father nodded apologetically. "Sir Hellsing," he corrected himself, "said it was going to be hard without Grayla."

Samson nodded. He knew that.

_You have to promise me you won't give up on life,_ she'd said. _I'm going to find her, but you have to promise me you won't give up._

He planned on taking her words to heart. He trusted her. She was she was going to find Grayla and bring her back to him. Of course, he was going to wait. He was going to wait for as long as it took for Integra to find Grayla.

Then he couldn't help but feel proud of himself for his thoughts. _I bet Integra would think I'm brave._ He hid his mouth in Panja's fur, smiling to himself. Integra was a knight, and she had to be brave. Maybe she would think he was like a knight, too.

_I bet I could be a knight someday._

He wasn't sure what he had to do to become a knight, or what Integra had done, but it had to be something noble. If Integra could be a knight at nineteen, then surely he could be a knight without his dæmon! He didn't see why not.

_I want to be a knight,_ he decided. _Like Integra._

"Sammy?"

Samson raised his head, taken out of his thoughts by his father's voice. "Hmm?"

"You know what Sir Hellsing said."

"Mm-hmm." He hid his mouth in Panja's fur again.

His father nodded. "She gave us her number and address if we needed anything," he added. "She's not one to give out her information freely, but she was willing just this once."

Samson felt an excited twinge in his stomach. He wanted to see Integra again as soon as he could. She was nice and her dæmon was pretty and he felt safe with her, like nothing would ever happen to him again. And she smelled like cigar smoke, like his Grandpa Joey. He liked that smell.

_Maybe I'll write her a letter,_ he thought, _like my teacher taught me. Or I could draw her a picture. I bet she'd like that._

He felt sleep being to tug at him again. This time in a good way.

_Or both,_ he decided, shutting his eyes, _I'll do both._

Samson fell asleep as the car started on the road again, with Integra and knighthood on his mind.

In the gold antique car heading in the opposite direction, Integra Hellsing sat in the back seat, holding tightly to her dæmon. Her face was buried in Illiad's shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of cigar smoke and rain. She took comfort in knowing her dæmon was still close to her and still a part of her. She didn't know what she would do without Illiad.

She leaned back in her seat, watching as the rain tapped lightly on the car window. She held Illiad against her chest, feeling her dæmon's heart beating in time with her own. She felt a slight pounding against her chest from Illiad's heartbeat.

_I'll always be here, Integra,_ Illiad assured her, touching her nose to Integra's jaw.

Integra sighed contently and gave Illiad's ear a light kiss. _I know you will be,_ she said. _I know_.

"Sir Integra?"

Integra and Illiad looked up at the sound of Walter's voice. "Walter?"

"Are you all right?" The butler glanced up quickly in the rearview mirror at the pair.

Integra sighed slowly. She glanced out the window, thinking of Samson, sitting on the street curb without his dæmon. "I've been better," she answered. She heard a soft sigh from Walter and the crinkle of the leather of the passenger's seat as Bentley shifted uneasily.

_Is something wrong, Bentley?_ Illiad asked, ears forward. She shifted her position in such a way that her heart no longer beat against Integra's. The sound of a single heartbeat unnerved Integra; she clutched Illiad closer, making the dæmon jump and earning her a warning stare that said _Be careful_.

The seat crinkled again as Bentley moved. Integra could see the tip of his snout pointing toward the window. His breath clouded the glass.

_I've never seen a child without a dæmon,_ he said. _It's like seeing a human without a face or without a heart-they're missing something vital. It just doesn't feel right. Or look right_ , he added hesitantly. He shook his head, making his ears flop. _What did you learn from him?_

Illiad shifted in Integra's arms. Integra gently pressed her fingers into Illiad's fur. What they had learned from Samson had disturbed them in ways they weren't sure how to explain.

"He doesn't remember much," Integra started. "He remembers playing in the park with his friends, playing hide-and-seek, he said. While he was hiding he said he was led off by a blonde woman with a large gray wolf dæmon."

_He said she was dressed in a black rode and spoke with a German accent_ , Illiad added. _And he remembers that there were more people dressed like her who took his dæmon._

Samson's words came back to Integra: _They all had crosses hanging around their necks, like the one on your bow._

Without thinking, Integra covered her cross pin with one hand. How could anyone wear a cross around their neck and do such horrible things to these children? She shook her head in dismay and confusion, unable to wrap her head around the circumstances of the situation.

"Sir Integra?"

Integra met Walter's eyes in the rearview mirror, having almost forgotten he was there.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Walter. Samson told us his captors all wore crosses around their necks."

At that, Walter nearly slammed on the breaks, Integra could feel the car jerk, but instead, he exchanged an alarmed glance with Bentley.

Integra didn't miss it. "Is something wrong, Walter?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Beside him, Bentley shifted uncomfortably. "Call it a hunch, Sir Integra, but I believe I have an idea of who Samson is referring to."

"Who?"

Walter didn't answer right away. He pulled the car up to a red light and exchanged more glances with Bentley. The foxhound's ears rose and fell; he shook his head, sighed, and looked back out toward the road. Walter's expressions in the exchange were hidden from Integra's view by his headrest and he kept his face out of view of the mirror.

"It's only a hunch, Sir Integra," he reminded her. "We think it would be better if you figured it out for yourself." By "we" of course, he meant himself and Bentley.

_And how do you suggest we do that?_ Illiad asked, fighting her way out of Integra's arms. She padded out onto Integra's leg, steadying herself against a bump in the road as the car took off again. _We can't go around asking everyone in sight if they've seen people in black robes recently. If these people have the gall to kidnap children, who knows what they'll do with us if we start asking around!_

Walter chuckled; Bentley shook his head, amused. "I never said you had to go door to door," he said.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Integra asked, pulling Illiad back into her arms.

"Try consulting your family records," Walter said. "I'm sure your grandfathers recorded something that could be of use to you."

Integra took a breath, thinking of the old, leather-bound books that resided in her father's study. They contained every piece of information pertaining to the Hellsing family history, dating all the way back to the days of Abraham Van Helsing. Could it be that her ancestors had seen a similar scenario play out in the streets of London?

There was only one way to find out.

Her father's study was located on their third floor, the last door on the right at the end of the hall. Integra hadn't set foot in the room since her father died; it reminded her too much of him. She was the only Hellsing so far who had never used the little office. Every other one back to Van Helsing had used it, but Integra was the first to refuse.

Even then, as she stood outside the doors, she felt the urge to turn around and walk away and leave the answers she was looking for locked in the study. Illiad felt her reluctance and uneasiness, and fell into an odd pattern of jumping onto the decorative table beside the door, jumping off, turning circles around the outermost leg, and jumping back up. She whined softly, running across the table once or twice.

"Illiad!" Integra snapped at last. "For goodness' sake, enough of that!"

But Illiad didn't stop. It was as though she couldn't hear Integra, and continued her anxious pattern.

With an exasperated sigh, Integra rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle, shoving her fears and doubts into the pit of her stomach. Her fingers hadn't even closed around the knob when Illiad jumped into her arms, frantically pawing at her chest. _Don't go in there, Integra! Please, let's just forget about this and turn back!_

Integra yanked her hand back, shocked by her dæmon's behavior. She had never seen Illiad react like this, not even when they had been hunted by her uncle or trapped in the basement with Alucard for however brief a time. What could have possibly bothered her so much now?

She wrestled with Illiad, trying to hold her still. "I won't walk away from this if it means saving those children's lives!"

Illiad wriggled out of Integra's grip, leaping off her shoulder and landing easily on the floor behind her. _You go, then_ , she said. _I...I'll wait here._

"I'm not leaving you at the doorway," Integra countered firmly. "We either go together now, or I'll stand here and wait until you're ready to go with me."

Illiad slumped down and crouched, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. But she didn't move.

"Well?"

_Fine_ , she huffed, getting to her paws. _I'll come._ She sprang up onto Integra's shoulder and sat with her flank against her counterpart's neck. She looped her tail around Integra's shoulder. _But I'm staying here._

Integra nodded silently. She reached out again and closed her hand around the handle, half expecting Illiad to fly down her arm and swat her hand away from the handle, but her dæmon remained where she was. She turned the handle enough to get a click from the opened door, and felt Illiad's claws poke into her shoulder. Illiad's tail curled into a tighter loop around her neck.

_Go on,_ Illiad urged. _Or I will fly down your arm and swat your hand away from the handle._ Her whiskers twitched with nervous amusement.

Integra threw Illiad a smile of her own and pulled the door opened. The smell of dust and unused books and old leather flooded into the hall. They stood still in the doorway, half expecting to see Homer and Arthur sitting at the desk in the middle of the study. There was a nearly crippling rush of grief when Integra opened the door fully and the old wooden chair was empty.

Illiad hid her face in Integra's hair. Integra had to stop herself from letting the handle slip from her hand. _I wanted him to be there._ She didn't know if the thought was her own or Illiad's but it was the same nonetheless.

_Let's get this over with_. That thought was undoubtedly Illiad's, and Integra couldn't have agreed more. She slipped into the study, letting the door shut softly behind her. The click made Integra jump, and for a moment she was half-convinced that she was locked in forever, doomed to spend eternity in a room filled with memories that made her heart ache. She leaned back against the door to steady herself. Her fingers drifted over the handle.

_Come on._ She felt Illiad's muzzle burrow deeper into her hair. _Let's find what we need and go._

"The books stay here," Integra asserted, pushing herself up off the door. It was almost an insult to remove the books from where they had been for so many years.

Illiad flicked her tail tip, touching Integra's jawline. _If you say so._ She sighed heavily, her eyes roaming the room. _Where should we start?_

Integra inspected the room herself. Three of the walls were lined with books, some in colorful bindings and others were in plain, dark ones. But there were only a few that were bound in dark, aging leather. Those were the ones that contained the history of the Hellsing family. They were located on two different walls: the ones straight across from Integra and the one to her left. She had no idea which ones were Van Helsing's, which were her grandfather's, and which were...

_Should we split up?_ Illiad's voice cut into her thoughts.

"I thought you wanted to stay on my shoulder," Integra said matter-of-factly.

_I did. But we'll cover more ground if we split up._

"You'll damage them."

_I won't!_

"I want them intact, Illiad." Integra looked up at her dæmon. " _All_ of them."

Illiad shuffled her paws, embarrassed. _Right. Of course. Ehm..._ She narrowed her eyes at both sets of books. _Do you think we'll need all of them?_

"Possibly," Integra said with a thoughtful sigh. "I know nothing of what happened before I was born."

_The bastards were silent, then._

"Until two years ago, yes."

Illiad flexed her claws. _Do you think something could have happened during World War II?_ she asked. _After all, that was a rather chaotic time for the world. It wouldn't surprise me if someone tried to take advantage of that._

"It's entirely possible," Integra answered, "but then if it were that chaotic, there may not have been time to kidnap children."

_I suppose we'll find out then?_

Integra simply nodded and started for the bookcase across from her.

The first book she pulled from the shelf had a gold page marker dangling from the center of the book and marked with the initials "A.H." At first, Integra's heart had jumped and her stomach twisted, but it became clear to her once she began reading that the records were those of her grandfather, Sir Alydar Hellsing.

His records offered no new insight into their current predicament. In fact, there was no mention of any severed children at all, nothing aside from the usual noting of a stray vampire Alucard had been sent to deal with. In the end, his records proved useless.

"My grandfather was an incredibly boring man, wasn't he?" Integra asked, setting the book down on the floor. She had taken to sitting cross-legged on the floor rather than at the desk.

Illiad cringed. _His dæmon wasn't much better._ She jumped down from Integra's shoulder and stretched. _My goodness! Did this man do anything besides sit around the office all day?_

Integra chuckled. "It doesn't seem so."

_Hmp._ Illiad sat down and scratched her ear with one hind paw. _Maybe your great-grandfather will be more helpful. He evidently did more than his son_. She nodded her head toward the six other books on the shelf, their page markers labeled with the initials "A.V.H."

With another chuckle, Integra closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. She pulled a second one down, this one belonging to Van Helsing. "At least Alydar only had one," she mused, taking the fragile book in her hands. She set it down in her lap.

_Well, there's a reason he only had one,_ Illiad answered, perching on Integra's leg to get a better view of the book. She scanned the pages as Integra flipped through them, slowly and carefully. _Anything useful?_

"Nothing we could use," Integra replied. "So far I'm only seeing his records of Alucard, the beginnings of the Hellsing Organization... _Oh._ "

Illiad clambered back up onto Integra's shoulder to get a better view. _What is it?_

"Here." Integra pointed to a journal entry in the middle of the page, written in neat, quill-and-ink handwriting. "July eighth, eighteen-ninety-seven."

_Ninety-seven?_ Illiad echoed. _I thought Hellsing wasn't established until nineteen-oh-five?_

"It wasn't," Integra said. "And by Van Helsing's hand. Alydar didn't take over until nineteen-seventeen."

_And your father was born the year after?_

"Yes."

_Hm. So what does it say?_

"Van Helsing more or less led Hellsing at this point," Integra said. "The organization hadn't taken on its full form yet." She paused to read the entry carefully. "The first disappearances start the week before, on July first. In the beginning, it wasn't that noticeable..." She flipped through the pages, finding that with each entry after that Van Helsing was becoming more and more agitated and irritated. Even conflicted. And frustrated. Alydar was proving to be a useless Hellsing, even before he led the organization.

_How long did the disappearances go for?_ Illiad asked, leaning further over Integra's shoulder.

Integra shook her head, disappointed as she flipped ahead to the later entries, each one mentioning in some way the disappearances. "Six years," she said at last. " _Six. Bloody. Years._ "

Illiad stared, wide-eyed and bewildered. _And no one did anything to stop it? Not even Van Helsing? Hell, not even your useless grandfather?_

A half-smile pulled at the corner of Integra's mouth as she scanned the next few lines of the journal entry. "Maybe not as useless as we thought."

Illiad's ears pricked. _I don't understand._

"Look here," Integra said, pointing to the middle of the page.

Illiad jumped down into her lap to look closely at the page, squinting. She stared at where Integra was pointing before shaking her head and looking up at Integra. _What?_

"Didn't you read it?"

Illiad shook her head. _Cursive makes my head spin. why do you think I hide in your lap when you sign papers? Even your name makes me dizzy._

Integra chuckled. "That would explain my headaches."

Her dæmon's whiskers twitched in amusement. She purred her laughter. _Go on,_ she said, _tell me what it says._

"Alydar knew that someone outside England was responsible for the disappearances. Children were disappearing from Spain, Germany, France, and Italy, as well, much like they are now. Van Helsing refused to do anything, so Alydar took matters into his own hands.

"It was still the early days of Hellsing, but it was far enough along that Alucard was under Hellsing's control. Alydar was still seventeen years away from leading the organization; that didn't stop him from exercising some power of his own when Van Helsing had his back turned. He tracked down the parents of the missing children, only in England of course, but got less information from them than you and I did from Samson."

_What did he do then?_

"He eavesdropped on a Round Table Conference. Or rather, what would become the Round Table Conference. In this day, it was a meeting Van Helsing had with some old colleagues of his, all who were rather religious. As Van Helsing tells it, they were discussing the effects of Dust."

_Dust? Why were they so worried about that? Was it that bad?_

"I suppose that depends on who you ask," Integra said with a little laugh. "I'm Protestant, Illiad, I could care less about Dust. But Van Helsing was Catholic, and for some Catholics, Dust was the physical manifestation of Original Sin. It started collecting on children after their dæmons settle."

Illiad frowned and took a minute to rub her face against Integra's ribcage. _I don't understand. Wouldn't baptism have prevented that?_

Integra sighed. "I don't know. I would have thought, but..." She paused and shook her head. "I suppose that didn't stop anyone from worrying."

_Hmm._ Illiad swiped her tongue around her teeth. _So what happened next?_

Integra cleared her throat before continuing. "Van Helsing and his associates were concerned about the effects of settling Dust. They all had dæmons, I don't doubt that. If Van Helsing didn't, you and I wouldn't be here.

"They discussed the disappearances, mostly. Alydar, though uninvited, informed Van Helsing that all the missing children were between ten and twelve, all close to the age of settling..."

_All close to the age where they would start collecting Dust._

"Right. And, according to Van Helsing and his associates, there was only one way to prevent this collection, and it was the fate they were worried would befall the missing children. We know it as _severing._ They called it _intercision_."

They were silent when Integra finished, trying to process the information at hand.

_Alydar never finished his investigation?_ Illiad asked after a while.

"No," Integra answered. "Van Helsing never let him. And by the time he could, the disappearances had stopped. There are no records of Alydar's investigation. Van Helsing burned them after he found out what Alydar had been doing."

_Damn shame,_ Illiad grumbled. _And the children?_

"Nothing. No one ever found them."

_Damn it._ Illiad shook her head vigorously, ears flattened. _At least this explains why Alydar's records couldn't help us. There was nothing to record after that and his information was destroyed. And there was nothing left once he took power._

"Business as usual," Integra muttered. She sat staring blankly at the open book in her lap for a little while before closing it and setting it on the floor. "There's something I don't understand, Illiad."

_What's that?_ Illiad crawled into Integra's lap.

"Van Helsing and his associates were worried about Dust. Children were disappearing. Intercision cut their dæmons away. Dust was Original Sin that collected on children after their dæmons settled..." Integra had stopped making sense after her first sentence, and she knew it, now rattling off her thoughts in no particular order. "My great-grandfather was Catholic."

_Catholics were worried about Original Sin in the form of Dust,_ Integra thought, narrowing her thoughts down to a few key ideas. _Only intercision could prevent it from collecting..._ She sat up, a shiver running up her spine. There were two words in her thought process that stood out.

Catholics. Intercision.

_They all had crosses hanging around their necks, like the one on your bow._

Integra got to her knees, practically flinging Illiad from her lap and replaced the books on the shelf as quickly as she could. She stood and made for the door as fast as possible with Illiad at her heels.

_Integra? Integra! What's going on?_ Illiad leaped onto Integra's shoulder. _I know that look in your eye, Integra. What's wrong?_

"I need to see the Round Table," Integra answered. "As fast as possible!"

"But, Sir Irons, this can't wait!"

"I'm sorry, Sir Integra, but there's nothing I can do-"

"Sir, please, these children don't have four more days!"

"There is nothing I can do, Integra, not until Sir Penwood and Sir Howard come back. They're out of the country for another three days. I can't call the Round Table without them."

_Damn it_. Integra ground her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. Of all the times to be out of the country, Penwood and Howard had to choose _right bloody now_. In the middle of a crisis, for goodness' sake! In the end, though, Integra had to admit that she had no choice but to wait.

"All right," she breathed. "We'll meet in four days at Westminster."

"I will see you then, Sir Integra. Good day to you."

"And to you, Sir Irons." She hung up the phone and leaned back in her seat.

_Well?_ Illiad had been sitting at the edge of Integra's desk, and now crept forward, anxious for the verdict.

"We're meeting at Westminster in four days," Integra answered, taking Illiad into her arms.

Illiad rested her head on Integra's shoulder, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. _What will we do in the meantime?_

"Find out anything more we can on these monsters, and hope that the situation doesn't get any worse. The last thing I want to see now is another child goes missing. Or die." She thought about Samson, nearly lost without his dæmon.

_He'll have four more days and more if he listens to you,_ Illiad commented.

"I know," Integra said, holding Illiad closer. "But nothing is guaranteed."


	8. Plots, Plans, and Ancient History, Part 2

In the days leading up to the Round Table Conference, two more children went missing, Integra's files on the other missing children went with them, and a traitor was given a new set of orders.

It began with the two missing children, not from Spain, or Germany, or France, but from England and the already breached safety of Alexander Andersen's orphanage.

The first child to go missing was a little girl from England. Her story, if she had been able to tell it, was something similar to Samson's. She had been in the park with her friends when she had gone missing, well away from the supervision of her parents and well away from the supervision of her friends. The bush patch she was hiding in was quickly becoming a popular spot for children to disappear from and was frequently visited by a woman in black robes.

The little girl's name was Anna, and her dæmon's name was Codlan. But she called him Cod because "Codlan" was too much for a young mouth to handle. She was seven years old, and she hoped more than anything that her dæmon wouldn't settle into his nickname. Cods were ugly, not to mention she didn't like fish, and she was sure there would be very little she could do with her dæmon stuck in a tank because he was too big to carry in a bag.

Anna thought about this often, even though she was only seven, but she was close enough to the settling age that it crossed her mind more often than people gave her credit for. She thought about it then, as she sat behind a bush patch that was quickly becoming a popular spot for children to disappear from, with Cod in her lap as a black-footed ferret. The dæmon wriggled uneasily.

_You're thinking about that again, aren't you?_

"I'm sorry, Cod," she said. "I can't help it."

_I know._ Cod wound himself around her neck and slumped down unhappily. _I don't want to be a fish._ _There's nothing to do as a fish._

Anna had considered these thoughts only moments before, but hearing them from Cod eased her anxiety some. "What do you want to be, Cod?"

Cod perked up a little. _Well, that depends on you, really. What I am depends on what you are. What would you like me to be?_

"A beaver," Anna answered. "Or an otter."

Cod chittered with amusement. _You want me to swim with you, but not as a fish?_

"Well, I don't want you to be in the water _all_ the time. I want you to be able to come on land with me aft-"

_Shh!_ Cod scrambled down into Anna's lap. _Someone's coming._ He shifted into a wildcat, his ears shoved forward and his eyes bright and alert, searching through the bushes for the owner of the footsteps.

"Is it Jessie?"

_No, I-_

"Hello, little one..."

Cod and Anna whirled around with a gasp. Standing behind them was a tall blonde woman, her straw-colored hair reaching just above her eyes. She was dressed in black, save for the gray cassock she wore over her shirt. She looked around at where Anna sat, her glasses shining in the sunlight.

"What are you doing, sitting here?" she asked. "I thought you would rather be playing with the other children."

"But I am," Anna protested eagerly. "Hide and seek. Jessie's it."

The woman tipped her head. "But why _here_?" she asked, as though she couldn't believe Anna's choice of hiding place. "Surely there are other spots?"

Anna frowned. "Of course there are. But this one is easy to overlook. The bushes are too thick to look through and too tall to look over. Everyone knows it's the best hiding spot there it."

The sheen on the woman's glasses prevented Anna from seeing her eyes, but Anna could see the woman raise an eyebrow. Did she think Anna was stupid in her choice of a hiding place? There was practically a smirk on her face, albeit masked some by the thin cigarette hanging at the corner of her mouth, that said she thought so.

"Well, I suppose that's perfectly reasonable," the woman mused. "After all, hide and seek is all about not being seen."

There was something in the woman's words that made Anna uncomfortable. She was done talking, she decided. Nothing good could come from this interaction. She needed a way out.

Codlan pushed his nose into the bushes. _Oh, it sounds like Jessie's found Francine. We won! We should go see them._ He bounced excitedly in Anna's lap.

A smile spread across Anna's face. "Yes, we should go meet them," she agreed. She turned to the woman. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need to go meet my friends.

But the woman didn't seem to buy it. "I thought the game was over when everyone was found."

Anna exchanged glances with Cod, feeling genuine confusion set in. _Does she not know the rules of hide and seek?_ Cod shrugged.

"Oh, no," Anna answered. "The last person to be found can come out at the end when everyone else has been found. It's okay for me to go out."

_Yes,_ Codlan pressed. _And they're calling us._

_I don't hear anything._ Out from behind the blonde woman came her dæmon, a massive gray wolf. He came and stood beside his counterpart, his pale eyes sweeping over Anna and Codlan. In only a split second Anna knew she had been caught. She held Cod close.

"I want to go back to my mother," she demanded.

The woman crouched down, putting out her cigarette under her shoe, to be eye level with Anna, are as close as she could get to it. "You will," she said. "But I'd like to speak with you first. May I?"

Anna shook her head. "No. You're a stranger. My mother says I shouldn't go anywhere with strangers."

"I'll introduce myself, then," the woman said. "I won't be a stranger then, will I?"

Anna tipped her head. "No, I suppose not. You first."

For the first time, Anna could see through the woman's green-tinted lenses. Her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. A little smile lit her face. She muttered something to herself, something Anna thought was along the lines of "Smart girl."

The woman's smile widened enough to cover her face, but not enough to show her teeth. She held out her hand. "Ms. Wolfe," she introduced herself.

"Anna. What about him?" She peered over at Ms. Wolfe's dæmon.

Ms. Wolfe glanced over her shoulder at him. "I don't think that's very important right now, Anna."

"It is," Anna insisted. "My father says you can't really know a man without knowing his dæmon. Or a woman," she added quickly.

"Very wise advice," Ms. Wolfe commented. "If you must know, his name is-"

_Grinsley._ The wolf dæmon picked his head up. _I've no trouble speaking for myself._

"None at all," Ms. Wolfe griped, frowning at him. He shrugged indifferently. "And what is your dæmon's name?"

_Codlan,_ the wildcat replied. _But everyone calls me Cod._

"Well," Ms. Wolfe sighed, standing up, "now that introductions are over, and we are no longer strangers, perhaps you wouldn't mind coming to talk to me?"

Anna held Cod close. "I suppose." she got up and followed the woman out of the bush patch. She didn't like going with a stranger, but she knew Cod could protect her. After all, he could change and Grinsley couldn't. "What are we going to talk about?" she asked.

"Cod." It was the shortest answer Anna had gotten yet.

"What about him?"

"His final form."

"He won't settle for another three or four years. I don't know that yet."

_You won't._

_Huh?_ That was an odd answer. But then, that whole conversation was odd. Maybe a nap would help her clear her head.

Anna took a deep breath. Yes, a nap would certainly help. She inhaled deeply again, smelling something that reminded her of flowers. It was comfortably dark after that.

The second child to disappear was a boy from Alexander Andersen's orphanage. He was considered to be a veteran among the other boys in the orphanage. At eleven years old, he was the oldest among them and something of a father figure. Andersen had found him on the streets of Rome, fighting any boy he could find for any supplies he could find. He'd been angry and reckless, but Andersen's kindness had gentled his wild nature and channeled it into something positive. Instead of fighting with the other boys, he took it upon himself to break up fights when they started. He kept the other boys in line when Andersen wasn't around to do it himself, and they listened to him without question. To some degree, he considered himself to be Andersen's number two at the orphanage, and it was a position he did not take lightly.

The boys called him "Il Generale," The General, though his real name was Bernardo Ansaldi. They called Talia, his dæmon, "Il Tenete," The Lieutenant, because she was as good for the dæmons as Bernardo was for the boys. She broke up fights between the dæmons before they could escalate into physical fights between the boys.

In recent days, Bernardo noticed that Talia had begun to shift less and less, and knew that she was coming close to finding a final form. But he wasn't worried. Talia had been favoring a lion form, which greatly pleased him. He was the protector of those boys, and Talia was the protector of their still unsettled dæmons.

But he did not dwell on this thought as he slept, with Talia sleeping soundly at his side in her lion form. It was not his first thought, either, when he woke to find another lion dæmon standing by his bed that night, and its counterpart standing behind it. A sigh came from the counterpart.

"England may be two hours away, but some jobs are better done by others," a female voice whispered.

Bernardo rolled over to find a woman between twenty-five and thirty-five standing at his bedside. He blinked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wondering what this woman and her lion dæmon were doing in his room.

"Is there something I can do for you, _signora_?" he asked, suppressing a yawn.

The woman didn't answer immediately. She seemed to be searching for something, but her eyes were hidden by the thick locks of black hair hanging over her eyes. Bernardo could only determine her expression by the rest of her face. Her mouth thinned and her head turned slightly in Talia's direction.

"You have a lion dæmon, too," she commented.

Bernardo glanced at his dæmon, sitting up at the edge of the bed. "I think so," he said. "She hasn't completely stopped shifting yet. She could be anything." He frowned. "Why are you here? Does Father Andersen know you're here?"

She flinched; Bernardo knew he'd struck a nerve with Father Andersen's name.

"No," she answered, her voice sour. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way."

She was faster than Bernardo anticipated. He found himself in a firm chokehold with a heavy cloth pushed up against his face. He beat at her, trying to aim blows at her face and neck. He was able to push her arm away long enough to force out, "You took Rafael, didn't you? _Didn't you?_ "

As the cloth covered his face again, Bernardo saw the face of Rafael Di Angelo, pale and nearly lifeless. He saw the younger boy sitting on his bed with Andersen, hunched over and shaking, without his dæmon at his side.

Bernardo knew he was next. But he wasn't going to let himself waste away like the rest.

_Not like the rest._

It was two nights after the day Anna went missing. Integra Hellsing was near emotional ruin, between her encounter with Samson and the knowledge that another child had gone missing and she had been unable to do anything about it. She did her best to hide it, but it was clear to Walter and Alucard that she was on the brink of a major breakdown.

And it was later that night, having found that she was not in her office, that they discovered she was instead curled up on her bed, openly sobbing into her pillow with Illiad clutched to her chest. The poor dæmon looked as miserable as her counterpart, her eyes glassy and her fur ruffled.

In spite of Integra's weak protests, Alucard laid next to her, his front to her back. Walter sat near her head, rubbing her shoulder. The dæmons stayed close to their counterparts, worried, but unwilling to breach the contact rule-with or without permission from their counterparts.

They hoped Integra would eventually cry herself to sleep, but for another hour or so she continued to sob softly. She hadn't quite exhausted herself yet. Even when the tears stopped coming, Integra lay quietly in between Walter and Alucard. She sniffed occasionally and coughed more times than Walter and Alucard knew she would have liked. But they let her be, instead preferring to stay with her as silent support until she was ready to move. Or until she needed anything, and Walter was sure she would sooner or later.

The time ticked by, and still, they sat in silence, humans and dæmons alike, until Integra turned her head and opened her mouth. A hoarse, strangled sound was the most she could get out before Illiad reached out a paw and laid it gently on Integra's lips. Integra closed her mouth and laid her head back down on the pillow.

_Walter,_ Illiad croaked, _can you please get Integra some tea to calm her down? And something to help her sleep. She needs it._

"Of course," Walter said softly. He gently gripped Integra's shoulder before standing and heading toward the door. He would have left Bentley with Integra, but the pull between them would have been far too great for the distance Walter needed to go. His dæmon instead exchanged a knowing glance with Eripmav, whose head rested on her counterpart's neck, nearly indistinguishable from Alucard's pitch black hair if not for the shine of her scales. The cobra dæmon gave Bentley a confirming nod.

_Stay as you are, Alucard,_ Walter heard the dæmon tell her counterpart. _Integra needs comforting, not annoyance. She's in no mood for your games._

Alucard's only reply was a grunt.

_Thank you, Eri._ It was Illiad's raspy reply that Walter heard last as the door shut gently behind him. From there it was him and Bentley, alone in the silence of the empty hall.

_This is draining her_. Bentley shook his head, looking over his shoulder ay Integra's door.

"I know," Walter sighed. "I hate to see her like this."

Bentley suddenly rounded on him, fur bristling with a low growl. _You bastard, this is your-_

"Bentley!" Walter had backed up, reasonably and undeniably shaken by his dæmon's behavior. It was unheard of that a dæmon turn of his counterpart in such a manner. It was unthinkable. For there to be such a soured bond between a human and a dæmon meant that an irreparable wrong had been committed, one whose guilt rode heavily on the dæmon's shoulders because his counterpart refused to acknowledge it. Walter's soured related relationship with Bentley was slowly becoming a physical manifestation of the internal battle Walter had with himself every morning. Bentley was becoming his conscious, and this confrontation was an indication of that.

The foxhound dæmon turned away. _I want this to be over._

For now, it was the only thing they could agree on.

Walter said nothing.

_Come on, then,_ Bentley said. _Let's patch her up. Because goodness knows there will be a day when we won't be able to._

Walter forced down the unease in his stomach and went after Bentley. They didn't speak again until they reached the kitchen and Walter went about his business.

_What kind are you giving her_? Bentley asked, licking the inside of one foreleg.

"Her usual," Walter answered, setting the water-filled kettle on the stove to boil.

Bentley chuckled. _She takes after her father. Arthur always did like Earl Grey._

"That he did," Walter agreed. He filled a separate glass with water and took a little orange pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. Calm Integra down first, then put her into a comfortable sleep. And then...

_Shut up,_ Bentley muttered, lying down with his head on his paws. _You think too much._

Walter chuckled and sat down, and for the duration of the time it took for the water to boil, they sat in silence.

"Bentley," he started.

_Not now_ , Bentley huffed, opening one eye. _I don't want an apology now._

"Then when?"

_I don't know._ He raised his head and stared at Walter. _Perhaps when this is all over. But you know you're going to destroy that poor girl, one way or another, don't you?_

Walter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Unfortunately. I don't want her in the way, Bentley. She doesn't need to be a part of it."

With a sigh, the foxhound dæmon got to his paws. _Integra has been a part of this since the day she was born. I at least share your sentiment that I don't want her in the way, either, but there is very little you can do. She's not going anywhere. Walter,_ Bentley went and rested a paw on Walter's knee. _Is it too late to turn back?_

"You've asked me that every day for fifty-five years," Walter said.

_You've never given me an answer._

"No," Walter replied. "It's still not too late. There's still time."

_Then use it wisely,_ Bentley advised, drawing his paw back. _Oh, and your water's boiling._

"Right." Walter got up and took the kettle from the stovetop and emptied the water into a ready cup on the counter. He turned the stove off and left the kettle on the burner to take care of later.

_I'll take the bottle._ Walter held the pill bottle down to Bentley's level, letting the foxhound take the object in his mouth. He rolled it in between his teeth to get a better grip on it.

Walter couldn't help but laugh. "It's a good thing you can communicate telepathically."

_Huh!_ Bentley huffed, unable to hold back a laugh of his own. He trotted out of the kitchen, Walter following close behind.

And for a moment, everything else was forgotten.

Guilt and questions stampeded through Integra's mind, drained and cloudy as it was. She blamed herself for not having done more, for not having been there to stop the girl from being abducted. She was sure there was something she could have done. If only she'd known.

Had Alucard known? He'd been out on a mission that night before. Could he have known the kidnappers were in England before they took the girl? He could have stopped them. He could have. He could have...could've done...could have— _something_.

Integra felt as useless in finding the children as she did in preventing them from going missing. Was this how her grandfather had felt?

_Your grandfather did his best, just as you have done._ Integra appreciated Alucard's words, but they did nothing to ease the burden on her shoulders. She held Illiad closer. Her best work wasn't good enough, not when children were still disappearing and still dying.

Alucard's arm wound tighter around her, and although he was mindful of Illiad, Integra still felt an uncomfortable shiver run up her spine as his sleeve brushed her dæmon's pelt. She felt Illiad squirm in her arms.

_You're being too hard on yourself, Master,_ the vampire said, his voice echoing in her mind.

"No." Integra shook her head. "I should have stopped this two years ago. Why couldn't I?"

_I know this isn't the answer you want to hear, Sir Integra,_ Eripmav said, _but these things take time to reveal themselves. No matter how hard you pushed, the time would not have been right. It would have still taken you two years to get this far._

Integra heard the dæmon's words, but now she was too tired to react. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep. But sleep, tired as she was, seemed impossible to come by when every time she closed her eyes she saw Samson sitting dæmonless on the curb and the fearful face of the ferret dæmon staring back at her from the other side of a glass barrier.

She closed her eyes with a little sigh. Maybe one morning she would wake up and this would all be over. Or better yet, she would wake up to find that none of it had ever happened.

_I think what you need now is a few hours away from it all,_ Illiad croaked. _Walter should be on his way._ She shuffled up closer toward Integra's head and set her head down against the underside of Integra's jaw. She licked her counterpart's chin.

The softness of Illiad's fur against her skin relieved Integra to some degree. She was still whole. Every piece of her was where it should have been, and the most important piece was curled up against her chest.

_I love you, Illiad._ The words seemed redundant, but Integra felt that they needed to be said.

She felt Illiad nudge her chin. _I love you, too, Teggy._

No other words were exchanged after that, and the four lay in silence until Walter knocked on the door, which was opened and held by Bentley as Walter had his hands full with a glass of water and a cup of tea. The butler set the cups down on the nightstand beside Integra's bed and took a small orange bottle from Bentley's mouth. The contents rattled against the walls as he set them down on the nightstand.

"Alucard," Walter began, "I'm sorry to disrupt you now that you've gotten comfortable, but would you mind leaving Miss Integra and I alone for a while, please?"

The vampire grumbled and drew his arm back from around Integra. She felt herself roll into the center of the bed as Alucard sat up and climbed off. Eripmav slithered off after him, coiling herself around his outstretched arm to keep from hurting herself in the drop from the bed to the floor.

The pair left without a word, vanishing through the wall without so much as a second glance back.

When they were gone, Walter sighed. "I get the feeling he and I are going to have a nice long talk about this later."

"I thought as much," Integra said, pushing herself up. "I'm tired, Walter, but I can't sleep."

_That's why I asked him to bring you something to help with that, or did you miss that part?_ Illiad asked, her ears flattened with indignation. But she sat up and pressed herself against Integra's leg regardless.

Integra patted her dæmon's shoulder. She didn't blame Illiad: her exhaustion and inability to sleep were beginning to frustrate her.

Walter ignored Illiad's remark. He instead handed Integra the cup of tea and sat down next to her. "We thought this would help calm you down.

"So I heard," Integra commented, smiling softly. "I didn't miss that part."

Illiad hissed softly. _Stop talking. Drink your tea and take your pills, you overgrown furball._ Her words were stern, but her eyes shone with amusement.

Integra took a deep drink of her tea in a sort of _Yes ma'am_ way, and the four sat quietly until she was finished. She set the cup down on the nightstand and grabbed the bottle. "How many should I take?"

"No more than three," Walter answered.

Integra took the maximum and downed them one by one with the water. She set everything down on the table and let herself lean into Walter, her head on his shoulder. "Stay with me until I fall asleep."

Walter put his arm around her. "Of course, Sir."

It wasn't long before the pills started to take effect. Integra's eyelids felt heavy and Walter was feeling more comfortable as the minutes ticked by. She shuffled closer to him, but Walter gently pushed her away. She blinked slowly, wondering why he was pushing her off.

"Walter…?"

"You need to lie down, Integra."

She was barely awake enough to follow Walter's directions, and instead let him guide her down to her pillow to keep her from falling off the bed. She felt the sheets being pulled out from underneath her but didn't feel them cover her until Illiad settled down at her chest with a massive yawn.

"Good night, Miss Integra."

"Good night, Walter." Integra yawned and wrapped her arm around Illiad. She closed her eyes, listening to Walter pull over a stool and set it down next to her bed, and felt Illiad squirm in her loose hold.

_Have you noticed anything odd about Bentley and Walter?_ Illiad asked, keeping the conversation limited to her mind and Integra's. _They seem…strained._

_We all are_ , Integra muttered. _They're tired._

Illiad grumbled something unintelligible and slumped down against Integra. With another sigh, they were both fast asleep.

Integra's office was dark and empty, the lights out and the chair pushed only halfway in. Papers and files pertaining to the missing children lay strewn across the surface of the desk. It had been that way since Integra had gone to bed, and remained that way until the door creaked opened, letting in a sliver of light from the hall. The sound of claws tapping on the checkered marble floor echoed in the room, followed by the sound of light footsteps. The door shut softly behind them, a human and dæmon pair.

_Let's get this over with,_ the dæmon, a dog, griped. _I don't want to be here long._

As he spoke, his counterpart went to the desk and leaned over. "It doesn't seem that she's written anything down," he mused.

_I'm sure she has,_ the dæmon said, joining his counterpart at the desk. _She just isn't stupid enough to leave it out in the open for everyone to see._

"Of course not," the man agreed. "She would have put her notes somewhere safe."

_Either in her own records or in a separate folder. I don't like the thought of stealing her family journal. What are you doing?_ The dæmon watched as his counterpart opened drawer after drawer in search of Sir Hellsing's notes.

"Searching," the man answered. "I don't like the idea of stealing her family records, either, but if I have to, I will."

_You're mad!_ The dæmon snarled. _Every Hellsing since Abraham has had their own set; it's been an unbroken chain for years, and it's one that Integra Hellsing isn't keen on breaking. She'll never forgive herself for being so careless as to let you break that chain._

When his counterpart paid him no mind, he pressed on. _Damn it, you know how she is about her family honor!_

The man shook his head, ignoring his dæmon's words, but stopped when he opened the last drawer. He reached in and pulled out a blue folder. He set it down on the desk and opened it, leaning over the desk to look over the contents.

_What is it?_ The dæmon's ears pricked. He went closer to his counterpart and stood on his hind paws to get a better look at the papers in the folder. The papers were littered with Integra's handwriting.

"Her research," his counterpart answered. "This is all we need." He closed the folder and tucked it under his arm, and shut the drawer with his free hand.

_Good._ The dæmon set himself down on all four paws. _Then let's hurry and get out. The vampire should be back soon._

With that, the pair hurried out of the office, leaving the same way they had come, with the door shutting softly behind them.

He had arranged to meet them that same night at South Bank of the Thames, under the London Eye. They were already there, a party of three, and waiting for him when he arrived; their glasses shone in the headlights of the car when he pulled up. He shut the car off and stepped out, taking the folder with him from the center console. He waited until his dæmon had leaped out after him to shut the door.

It was the shortest of the three figures that came forward to greet him. "I was getting worried," the man said with a light German accent. "For a moment I wasn't sure you were going to come."

The driver smiled. "I wouldn't dare skip out on you, Major."

The shapely German man laughed. "No, I knew you wouldn't." He adjusted his glasses before continuing. "You have the information, yes?"

"Oh, yes." The driver handed the Major the blue folder.

With a smile, the Major opened the folder and inspected the first page. "Let's see how far our dear Fraülein has gotten." He flipped through the pages one by one, making quiet comments to himself. "Hmm, she's grown quite attached to this Samson boy, hasn't she?" he asked, this time to the driver.

"You could say that," the driver answered. "She has a certain…fondness for him."

He got no answer from the Major other than a simple shake of the head. Both parties were silent as the Major continued to go through the papers in the folder.

As he did so, the driver and the two other men accompanying the Major surveyed each other closely. To the Major's left was a tall blonde man, his osprey dæmon perched on his shoulder, and not an issue as far as the driver was concerned; to the Major's right was a second tall man, this one wearing a high-collared military coat. Standing at his side was a German shepherd dæmon, nearly as tall as the driver's foxhound dæmon and built for fighting. She and her counterpart were the ones that concerned the driver the most. He had a history with them, one he wasn't sure he wanted coming up during this meeting.

But the dæmons, sensing the hostility between their counterparts, had other plans, and reacted accordingly. Their hackles rose, they watched each other intently, but only one, the foxhound, growled. The German shepherd simply bared her teeth. No sound came from her throat.

"This is not a time for fighting, gentlemen," the Major said, closing the file and looking up at the driver. "There will be a time for that, I assure you, but now is not that time. Until then, my dear butler, you can sit back and let us take care of the rest."

The driver—the butler—blinked, uncertain. "I don't understand, Major. This isn't what we had discussed."

"There's been a change of plans," the Major explained, waving his hand dismissively. "You've been relieved of, shall we say, the hard part? I have someone else taking care of that."

The butler straightened up, still uncertain, but unwilling to argue any longer. He glanced down at his dæmon. _Did you do something?_

The foxhound straightened up, holding his tail high, defensive. _Nothing you wouldn't know about._

"Gentlemen," the Major said, interrupting the silent yet visible feud between human and dæmon, "I love war, you know that, but this"—he motioned to the butler and his dæmon—"is one that I do _not_ love, nor can I afford to have it. This is one war I do not want lasting forever. I want it resolved, gentlemen, by the next time I see you. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, Major," the butler said. "Not at all." Beside him, his dæmon shook his head in agreement.

" _Gut_. Any other questions?"

"Just one: Who do you have taking care of 'the hard part?'"

The Major's eyes glittered as he put a finger to his lips. "That is for us to know. It is nothing for you to worry about. I am a man of my word, am I not?"

The butler nodded in agreement. "That you are, Major."

"Good night, then, gentlemen. I will see you again on the battlefield."


	9. The Round Table

Integra's hands wrung all the way to Westminster. She couldn't stop them, not even with a white-knuckle grip on the file she held. The rest of her body had stopped shaking long ago, but her hands, betraying her fear, refused to stop and her stomach continued to twist. The sickening feeling of fear pulsed from her heart and ran through the rest of her body.

Even Illiad couldn't mask her fear. Her paws shook underneath her, no matter what position she laid in. Integra felt the strain of Illiad's claws in her own fingernails as the dæmon drove her claws into the leather seat.

It wasn't going to meet with the Round Table that scared them. They had met with the older knights hundreds of times before; this was nothing new. The circumstances may have changed, but the people didn't.

What scared Integra and Illiad was knowing that Hellsing's security had been compromised. They had been informed that morning by Walter that someone had broken into Integra's office and stolen her file of information on the missing children. All her research had been in there, all the notes she had collected over time. It was just her luck with everything else that was going on.

In hindsight, it had been foolish of her, but in an odd way, she never wanted to be very far from that information. Anything else she may have added to one file, she made sure to copy and add to the other. She kept one close to her at all times in case she thought of anything that may have helped in her case. As it turned out, half of her notes were actual research and the other half was mindless scribblings of sudden thoughts that had crossed her mind. She kept two files to ensure she was never far from the information in case she thought of anything else. Now, as it were, her system had backfired on her in the wake of a robbery. The enemy had all her information, everything she had pieced together. They were on equal footing, she mused, though the enemy had one distinct advantage: they either knew who was responsible for the severed children, or they were the ones responsible for the missing children.

Beside her, Illiad was surprisingly quiet. Integra glanced down at her dæmon every so often, wondering when Illiad would scold her for having to files. She said nothing, and Integra waited. But they sat in silence.

It wasn't until they were halfway to the meeting that Integra finally broke the silence between them, finally having tired of the ache in her fingernails.

_Well?_ she asked.

The ache stopped abruptly as Illiad retracted her claws and looked up at Integra. _Well, what?_

_Aren't you going to tell me what a fool I was for having a duplicate file?_

_I would,_ Illiad answered, slipping her tail behind Integra the same way a friend would wrap an arm around her shoulder, _but you seemed to have figured that out for yourself._

_I was careless,_ Integra said, resting the file in her lap and folding her hands on top of it. _I've never kept two files before. I don't know why I started now._

_Perhaps,_ Illiad agreed gently. _But this is nothing like any of us have faced before._ _Murderous vampires are different than missing children. They don't linger._ She paused and took a breath, looking down at her paws. _And they don't hit so close to home._

Integra nodded silently, reaching out to rest her hand on Illiad's paw. _Promise you'll never leave me._

_Never if I can help it._ Illiad touched her nose to Integra's sleeve and licked the fabric once. _There are only two things that would ever pry me form you: death and intercision._

There was very little Andersen could do for Rafael now. Despite Andersen's prayers and pleadings, Rafael was finding it difficult to live without his dæmon, and Andreas was only so much help. The boy was fading fast, and Andersen knew it.

He had been with Rafael every waking moment since the boy had returned to the orphanage four days ago. He would have been relieved had Rafael not been missing his dæmon, and if two days ago Bernardo and Talia had not gone missing. There was a sinking feeling in Andersen's stomach exasperated by Andreas's whining and pacing that told him Bernardo would return the same way. How the older boy would cope without his dæmon remained to be seen. Bernardo was a fighter, always had been, and Andersen had the feeling that Bernardo wasn't going to go down as easily as some of the other children had.

But that thought offered Andersen little comfort, and it didn't change the outcome in front of him.

Rafael was feverish and pale, wriggling weakly in his bed and calling softly for his dæmon. Andreas was now lying beside him, having given up his whining and pacing, trying to offer him the same warmth and comfort that Rafael would have gotten from Ursa. The gesture was appreciated, but not the same.

Andreas leaned back, shaking his head. _There's nothing more we can do for him._ He rested his head on his paws. _I don't want to lose him like this._

Andersen only nodded, unable to put his agreement into words. Instead, he reached into the top drawer of Rafael's nightstand and pulled out a scarlet-beaded rosary. He took the young boy's hand in his own and gently wrapped the rosary around it, tucking the cross in against Rafael's palm. He closed the boy's hand and rested it on his chest.

With a gentle sigh, Rafael relaxed visibly. He looked up at Andersen with a soft smile. "This was my mother's," he whispered. "They gave it to me after the accident." He sniffed and swallowed, a tear running from the corner of his eye.

"I know, lad," Andersen answered gently. Beside him, Andreas whined softly.

Rafael was silent, instead looking past Andersen at the door. Without looking at the Paladin he said, "Father Andersen, why can I see my mother?"

Fear rushed through Andersen as he followed the boy's gaze to the door, but found no one there. He had heard before during his time as a priest before transferring to Iscariot that the dying often saw visions of loved ones past or not present. Andersen didn't answer right away.

"Do you think she has my dæmon with her?" Rafael asked.

Andersen exchanged looks with his dæmon. The Irish Wolfhound shrugged. It was possible that Rafael's mother had his dæmon with her, but they didn't know for sure. They didn't know what happened after Rafael was cut from his dæmon.

"I don't know, lad," Andersen answered honestly.

Rafael's face twisted in a mix of emotions Andersen found hard to read. Then his face relaxed and he settled into the bed, bringing his rosary closer to his chest. "I miss her."

"I know," Andersen said, laying his hand on Rafael's shoulder. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up." But those words, like so many others, felt empty and meaningless as they came out of his mouth. Drawing his hand back, he watched as Rafael rolled onto his side and rested his forehead against Andreas's shoulder. But the Irish Wolfhound drew back and stood, eyes cloudy. Andersen knew. He turned away, unable to look his dæmon in the eyes.

Andreas turned and went to sit beside Andersen, numb and cold. He couldn't meet his counterpart's eyes. The Paladin was hunched over, one hand under his glasses.

It was the first time in decades that Andreas had seen his counterpart cry.

When Walter pulled the car up in front of the meeting hall in Westminster, Integra and Illiad stayed in the car a moment longer, still needing time to get themselves together. Walter was more than happy to give them that time, and for that they were thankful. Integra's shakiness had not yet subsided, and Illiad still felt unstable on her paws.

Integra set the folder down beside her and took Illiad into her arms, holding her close. Illiad rested her head on Integra's shoulder. Her counterpart leaned back against the seat.

_Deep breath, Integra_ , Illiad said slowly. _There's nothing we can do._

Integra did as her dæmon advised, and held her even closer. _I know._

They were silent for a while, and Walter let them stay that way, even if they would be a minute or two late. Integra could feel Illiad's heartbeat beating slow and steady against her shoulder, and tried to slow her own until it matched Illiad's. Only then did she grab the blue folder and let her dæmon clamber up onto her shoulder. Walter and Bentley got out of the car and went around to the other side to open the door for them.

The four of them made their way up the stairs of the hall in silence. Walter didn't usually accompany her into the actual room where the Round Table met, but he always walked up the stairs with her, and Integra was especially grateful for his company this time around.

A gentleman at the door offered to take her overcoat from her, but Integra was reluctant to force Illiad down from her shoulder, even for a minute. Instead, she politely declined the man's offer and went on her way, though she was sure the man was offended to some degree.

_Don't worry,_ Illiad assured her. _I made sure his dæmon understood._

Integra was able to relax a little with that in mind. _Good. I would hate to have him think I was being rude._

_I know._ Illiad coiled her tail around Integra's neck.

There was another gentleman who opened the door to the meeting room for Integra. She looked over her free shoulder once at Walter, who gave her a reassuring nod that told her he would be waiting for her when she finished. She straightened her cravat, feeling the need to take another moment to collect herself, and stepped through the doorway.

The other eleven members of the Round Table were seated around an oval mahogany table, contrary to the group's name, with Sir Hugh Irons seated at the other end. Their dæmons sat either on the table or on the floor or on the back of a chair, in the case of a Great Horned Owl, but never more than a few inches from their counterparts. There was only one empty seat at the end of the table, opposite from Sir Irons, meant for Integra.

She went and sat down in her seat, hoping she didn't appear as shaky as she suddenly still felt, and set the folder down in front of her. Illiad jumped down from her shoulder, as relaxed and graceful as any other day, and sat down at Integra's left hand, tail curled neatly over her paws.

Integra took a breath. "Gentlemen."

"Sir Integra," Sir Irons greeted her. "I understand the circumstances are extreme enough that you felt the need to call a Round Table Conference."

"Yes." Integra glanced down at the folder in front of her before looking up to meet Sir Iron's eyes.

_Stay calm, Integra,_ Illiad advised. _If for my sake at least. You know how Giza is._

Integra glanced at the golden Egyptian Mau dæmon seated on the table. The cat watched Illiad closely, amber eyes narrowed. Giza's counterpart, Sir Ellis, had never given Integra any problems, but Giza, for whatever reason, had something against Illiad. Integra tried to think back to one meeting where Giza hadn't harassed her dæmon but came up empty. She would have to watch the golden cat closely. Neither she nor Illiad were in any mood for being harassed.

_And try to stay out of trouble with Windsor,_ Integra warned. _This is no time to be starting petty arguments._

Illiad's tail tip twitched. _Of course not._

"May I ask, Sir Integra, why you chose to call the Round Table here, rather than to Hellsing?" The question came from a knight further down the table. Integra was prepared for it.

"In light of some…recent events," she said slowly, "I thought it best not to hold this meeting at a location that wouldn't compromise the safety of the Round Table."

_If you don't mind my asking, Sir Integra, what recent events were those? Other than…the missing children?_ The question came from Sheppa, Sir Shelby Penwood's collie dæmon. She stepped out from beside her counterpart to where Integra could see her.

Integra glanced at Illiad. _What should I tell them?_ She had Giza in the back of her mind.

_Everything,_ Illiad answered. _When has the Round Table ever been dishonest with its members?_

_About the break-in, Illiad._

_They'll find out sooner or later, I imagine. I'd rather they hear it from you now than hear about it from someone else later. Don't worry about Giza,_ Illiad added. _Someone will put her in her place, I don't doubt it. Even if it has to be me._

Integra let out the breath she had realized she'd been holding. She wasn't fond of the idea of starting a fight with a fellow Round Table member, but she and Illiad had endured Giza's harassment for seven years. It was about time Illiad put a stop to it herself, whatever the results may be.

_Sir Integra?_ Sheppa was still waiting for an answer, head tilted slightly. Integra was thankful the collie had as much patience as she did.

"There was a break-in last night at Hellsing, gentlemen," Integra replied evenly. Tension flared among the members of the Round Table, human and dæmon alike. She was suddenly bombarded with questions and demands. Her dæmon straightened up, bristling at the flurry of voices.

Integra ran her hand down Illiad's back, trying in vain to flatten her dæmon's fur as she waited for the voices to die down. When they did, she went on: "I don't know who they were or what they wanted. I don't know how they got in, but I have my men looking into it." And that was true. The moment she'd found out there had been a break-in, after getting over the initial shock, of course, she'd ordered the head of her security to find out how the thieves had gotten passed Hellsing's security measures and defenses. As far as she knew, they were still working on it, having come up empty-handed for the time being.

_And what was it exactly that they stole, Sir Hellsing?_ That particular question came from none other than Giza, looking smugly at Illiad. One ear swiveled backward and her tail twitched, actions Integra recognized as a warning being passed on to not go too far. Whether Giza would listen remained to be seen.

The Egyptian Mau stood and made her way over to Illiad. Integra sensed her dæmon's discomfort as Giza circled her, close enough that their fur touched. _They did steal something didn't they, Illiad?_

Illiad flattened her ears. _You assume too quickly, Giza. What makes you so sure they did steal something?_

Giza flicked her tail. _I know things about things about break-ins you never imagine._ Her hind paw strayed as she ran her tail under Illiad's chin, and Integra felt a slight discomfort. She gripped the arms of her seat, fighting the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Giza had stepped hard on Illiad's tail tip, and she was refusing to let up.

_But,_ Giza went on, _it's enough to know that thieves don't often leave empty-handed._

Integra bit the inside of her lip as Giza's weight shifted onto that one hind paw. She shot Sir Ellis a desperate and angry stare that told him to _take your dæmon under control before I do it myself._ He got the hint and called Giza off before Integra allowed Illiad to flip the Egyptian Mau onto her back.

"That's enough, Giza!" Integra was able to relax some at Sir Ellis's words, and even more so when Giza's paw left Illiad's tail as she moved away. Sir Ellis gave Integra an apologetic glance, as Giza went and sat at his side.

Integra accepted his apology, though she was stung at having had her dæmon humiliated in front of the older knights. "They stole a file from my desk," she reluctantly answered Giza. "That file had all the information I'd gathered regarding the missing children."

Another wave of tension washed over the room. The dæmons bristled, agitated, showing the fear their counterparts were trying to hide.

"Luckily," Integra went on, choosing her words carefully, "I thought to make a copy of that information in the event that such a thing occurred." She tapped the folder once to further her point.

"Yes," Sir Irons said thoughtfully. "You mentioned over the phone that you had discovered something that couldn't wait." Though his voice was serious, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Integra relaxed now that they were drawing away from the subject of the theft. She didn't want to linger on the subject in the event that Giza, or anyone else for that matter, read into her duplicate file too much, and exposed what Integra felt was inexcusable incompetency on her part.

"Yes," she confirmed. "I had met with a child earlier that day who had lost his dæmon." She felt a familiar ache in her fingernails as Illiad dug her claws into the dark wood. "He gave me a rather cryptic piece of information about the people who had taken him: 'They all had crosses around their necks, like the on my bow.'" She raised her hand without thinking, and upon realizing what she was doing, used it as an excuse to adjust her already straightened silver cross pin.

"I didn't know what that meant, other than that these people are part of a religious organization," she went on, opening the folder. "Walter suggested that I look through my family records for any clue as to what it might mean.

"During my great-grandfather's time, in the days before Hellsing was what it is today, there was another string of disappearances. The circumstances are unknown, and the children were never found. This lasted for six years. And then it ended, just as suddenly as it started."

Again the dæmons bristled, inching closer to their counterparts, who whispered among themselves. Integra leaned forward, folding her hands, and waited patiently until they finished.

"What did you learn, then, about these people?" the knight at her right asked.

"Nothing from my great-grandfather or my grandfather," Integra replied. "Van Helsing had Alydar's records destroyed before he could find an answer. What I do know, however, is that Van Helsing and his associates were concerned about the effects of Dust."

At the other end of the table, Sir Irons' expression darkened. "I'm familiar with the concept of Dust," he said. "It becomes attracted to humans once their dæmons have settled."

Integra nodded. "And according to Van Helsing and his associates, the only way to prevent that collection was to undergo a process they called intercision. We know it today as severing.

"My great-grandfather was Catholic," she continued, "as were his colleagues. Dust was, and still is, a concern of Catholics. There are those, like my great-grandfather, who felt that Dust was the physical manifestation of Original again, the only way to prevent its collection was intercision." She paused, giving into an urge she hadn't realized she had, and took a cigar from her inner jacket pocket. The moment she lit and took a breath on it she relaxed. She knew Illiad didn't approve, but these last few days and recent hours had been wearing on her nerves and she desperately needed something to calm them.

"Given this," she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "I have reason to believe that some individual or some group within the Catholic Church is severing children from their dæmons." She blew out another cloud of smoke, listening to the soft murmurs of the Round Table members. She looked Sir Irons in the eye.

"But what their purpose is, I know not."


	10. Ambush in Westminster

The "hard part," as the Major had called it, was being taken care of as they spoke. He had gotten word earlier that day that a part of twelve was on its way up to Rome to capture Integra Hellsing. She may have just been one woman, but she was not a force to be reckoned with, and the Major knew that. He understood that there were risks involved, but those were risks he was willing to take.

His badger dæmon, Sven, wriggled anxiously at his counterpart's side. _Is it time yet?_

"Not quite," the Major answered. "We still have time."

Sven growled his irritation. _I can't wait any longer._

"You'll have to," the Major told him plainly. "Patience is key when it comes to waging war. Without patience, a war is nothing more than child's play."

The badger dæmon grunted and rolled his eyes. Again he shuffled anxiously but forced himself to settle down, his head on his paws.

"In the meantime," The Major said, smiling, "why don't we see what our dear friend Father Andersen is up to?"

That was the last straw for Andersen. One child was dead and another was missing. How many more was he supposed to risk before this madness came to an end?

It had been difficult leaving the nuns with the care of Rafael, but he had no other choice. He couldn't wait for Bernardo to return. If he did, another child could go missing. Two was two too many, and Rafael's death was one too many.

Andreas fidgeted in the backseat of the car, tearing at the sleeve of an old robe of Andersen's, taking his wrath out on the garment rather than on the leather seats or his counterpart. He grumbled curses and threats, all of which were lost among his growling and snarling and the sound of ripping fabric. He grief had quickly dissolved into rage and now he, like Andersen, wanted nothing more than to hold the guilty party responsible for Rafael's death and Bernardo's disappearance.

_Is it the right time now?_ Andreas asked, a strip of gray fabric hanging from his mouth.

Andersen was well aware of his dæmon's fury. "Yes, Andreas." He glanced up in the rearview mirror as Andreas took another chunk of fabric in his mouth. "Stop chewing on that now! Before you tear a fang out!" He could already feel an ache in his teeth, but whether that was from him clenching them or Andreas destroying the robe, he didn't know. But he wasn't taking any chances.

With a huff, Andreas spat out the cloth and swiped smaller pieces from his jowls. _I want her head._

Andersen gripped the steering wheel. He knew anger could lead him to do something he regretted, but he had to agree with Andreas. He wanted Integra Hellsing's head on a silver platter.

Grinsley had his doubts. So did Kai-Ren. He could feel it. The two and their counterparts had been assigned partners for years, and in all that time they had always been happy to carry out any orders they were given. But this...this was different. There was something evil about this.

He was sure Heinkel had her doubts about this mission, too, but she kept her thoughts to herself. It was the one thing Grinsley disliked about his counterpart. She took orders without question, no matter the nature of the assignment. Why, he didn't know, but he wished Heinkel would question her superiors more often, especially now. She knew what was happening now was wrong, but she was doing nothing to stop it.

_Is she weak or stupid?_ Grinsley wondered, glancing up at his counterpart, seated on the bench lining one side of the helicopter. She was silent, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from one corner of her mouth. She occasionally rolled it back and forth between her teeth, lost in thought.

Grinsley snorted, turned to Kai-Ren. The lion dæmon was seated on the floor next to him, as quiet as their counterparts. _What do you think about this?_

The lion looked up, startled out of his thoughts. _About what?_

_This._ Grinsley discreetly nodded his head toward the Paladins sitting further down the line, sweeping his eyes over the ones sitting toward the front. _What we're doing._

Kai-Ren sighed thoughtfully. _I don't know. But I have my doubts, just as you do._

Grinsley turned away, tensed. Kai-Ren and Yumie were no better than Heinkel. They never questioned orders, either. Why was Grinsley the only one who paid attention to his doubts? Why did the rest find that so hard? If they knew it was wrong, why didn't they say so?

With a frustrated sigh, Grinsley sank to his stomach. When this was over, he would forgive his counterpart for her participation. But only after he had a nice talk with her.

_About Codlan and Anna, among other things._

The dark fury in Andersen and Andreas' eyes made Maxwell jump as the doors to his office were slammed opened and the pair stormed in. The Irish wolfhound's fir bristled; Andersen's hands were closed around the handles of a pair of bayonets.

Calidor backed away, eyes wide, and ducked behind Maxwell's chair. _Enrico..._

Maxwell held up a hand, reassuring his dæmon. _I'll deal with this._ He stood to greet Andersen, though he didn't speak right away, mindful of his words. The Paladin's grip on the bayonets was tight, as though he wouldn't hesitate to use them at any moment.

"Andersen," Maxwell said slowly. "What happened?"

"Rafael is _dead,_ " the Paladin answered immediately. There was a layer of grief in his voice that Maxwell had never heard before. It reminded him just how fond of children Andersen was, and for the first time, he felt a pang of guilt. But he pushed it away, reminding himself that this needed to be done, no matter the cost.

_The end justifies the means,_ Machiavelli wrote. But what means included betraying the man who raised you?

_Andersen will understand someday, when Hellsing has fallen and their unholy creature no longer roams the streets._

"I'm sorry to hear that." The words carried far more weight than Maxwell expected them to. Yes, he had a lot to be sorry for, but he wasn't willing to admit that to Andersen. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Let me go to England," Andersen requested. "I need to have a talk with Integra Hellsing."

Maxwell sighed, suppressing a shiver of anticipation. This was what he had planned for. It was just a shame he had to continue to lie to Andersen.

"Request granted," Maxwell answered. "Do what you need to do."

"Thank you, sir." Andersen's grip lightened on the bayonet handles, but his voice was still thick.

_Would he have been the same way if that had been you?_ The thought surprised Maxwell before he could stop it, and he found himself wondering what it might be like without Calidor at his side. Calidor had always been there for him, more so since his parents abandoned him to the Church. There was a time when he had been Maxwell's only companion, and he didn't know what he would have done without Calidor then.

It was a sudden, unexpected, and unwelcomed look into the minds of the children who had been losing their dæmons.

_But it has to be done,_ Maxwell told himself firmly, trying to shake the thought. Could it have been Calidor trying to make him see reason? _It has to be done. There's no other way._

"Sir?"

Maxwell looked up, forgetting that Andersen was still there. "Yes?"

"Is there anyone available for back up?"

"Yes," Maxwell answered hastily, not considering the nature of the question. "I'll send someone if you need me to. Heinkel and Yumie are available if you require them."

Andersen didn't answer right away. Was he calmer now than before? And were his eyes narrowed in suspicion or was that just Maxwell imagining things?

"Unless you have someone else in mind?" The name "Marna Hadrian" momentarily flashed through Maxwell's mind, but he thought better of it. He needed her in Rome.

"No," Andersen replied quickly. "Heinkel and Yumie will do."

"As you wish." Maxwell sat down, relieved that the situation had deescalated some. "When do you plan on leaving?"

"Now. I won't wait until another child goes missing."

_Perfect._

"I'll have a helicopter ready and waiting for you."

The Paladin said nothing as he turned to leave, but Andreas cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder at Maxwell and Calidor.

_They'll understand someday._

"And you're positive they're Catholic?"

"Yes. There may be dozens of other Christian sects who wear crosses, but none of them are as concerned about Dust as Catholics are."

"Do you have any idea what group this might be?"

"No. but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."

Walter anxiously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. After walking Integra to the meeting room, he had gone back to the car to wait for her. Ever since then, he'd been looking out the window every few seconds, wondering when "the hard part" was going to be taken care of. He hadn't been given a time, only a day: today, when Integra was meeting with the Round Table. Today, when her absence at the mansion left her vulnerable.

"I would have preferred to do this myself," he grumbled absently.

Bentley, sitting in the passenger seat, snorted in disagreement. _Delivering Integra to the Major? The little girl you've just about called your own for so long? You wouldn't have been able to do it._

With a sigh, Walter looked out the windows again. "I would have known she was safe."

_And after you handed her over to Millennium?_ Bentley countered.

Walter looked at him once and turned away, knowing his dæmon was right. But he wanted to hold onto Integra for as long as he could, keep her safe for as long as he could, because he knew that the minute he let her out of his sight, Integra was going to be destroyed in one way or another. Bentley had been right: He was going to destroy her.

"Is it too late to turn back?" he asked.

_Now?_ Bentley clarified. _Yes. It's too late. You can't back out now even if you wanted to. The Major has bloody_ assigned _someone to take Integra. You can't protect her now._ He shook his head in disappointment. _I told you this would happen, Walter._

_You did._ Walter turned away, unable to face his dæmon. Yes, Bentley had told him time and time again when he had agreed to this plot that there would be a time when the situation had gone too far. But, as always, he had never listened, convinced that there would still be time to turn back before Integra got hurt. Now it was too late, and Integra was going to pay for it.

He stared out the driver's side window, seeing his reflection and beside it twelve-year-old Integra's smiling face and big blue eyes. Her smile was real, and for once in a long time, she looked truly happy. Then he saw her holding a younger version of Illiad, cradling the little dæmon against her chest. This was the little girl he had raised. It was the same little girl he was sending to her doom.

Walter reached up to wipe his eyes, just realizing how teary they were. Integra's reflection faded, leaving him staring at his own reflection. That was one of the few times he had seen Integra smile since she had been knighted and took control of Hellsing. And considering the circumstances, it would be one of the last.

_Start the car._

Walter turned at the sound of Bentley's voice. "What?"

_Start the car. She's coming._ Bentley nodded to the staircase of the meeting hall. Integra was walking steadily down the stairs, Illiad perched on her shoulder. There was a mixture of relief and annoyance written on the young knight's face. She got into the car without a word.

"I know that look," Walter said, glancing up in the rearview mirror as he turned the key in the ignition. Integra had Illiad in her lap and was gently massaging the Russian Blue's tail.

_Giza,_ Illiad spat, wrenching her tail from Integra's hand. _That insufferable mange-breeder! Next time I'll have her on her backside. What gives her the right to stomp on my tail? And what's worse- she hurt Integra in the process!_

Walter was only half-surprised that Integra didn't stop Illiad's rant. The pair had endured Giza's harassment for years. It was no surprise Illiad was as furious as she was.

It bothered Walter at the same time, though, that Giza's harassment had hurt Integra. It seemed as though the Egyptian Mau forgot the two were attached...and all he could think of then was what Integra had to face.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and drove out onto the street. Another glance into the rearview mirror saw Integra massaging Illiad's tail again, the dæmon's head resting on her heart.

What a shame it wouldn't last.

Integra took comfort in knowing that the Round Table was on alert for Catholic fanatics for the next time a child went missing. There wasn't much they could do until then, and Integra knew that, but she was relieved that they were at least aware of the gravity of the situation. What they would do from there, she didn't know. She only hoped she would see some promising results within the next few weeks, or better yet, days. This had been going on too long. She wanted to see it come to an end soon.

She leaned back against the seat and shut her eyes. For the first time in two years since this nightmare began she felt a sense of relief. In some way, she was getting closer to the bottom of it.

Illiad sighed against her chest, trailing off into a content purr. For the first time in a while, she was as relaxed as Integra. It was a nice and welcomed change from the stress they had been under for so long.

_Perhaps I'll sleep better at night,_ Integra mused.

_Wouldn't that be nice,_ Illiad agreed, picking up on the thought. _You could use a good night's sleep or two._

Integra opened her eyes just long enough to scoop Illiad into her arms from her lap. The dæmon let out a little _mrrow_ of surprise as Integra's hands slipped under her stomach and picked her up. But she settled in without issue, her nose pushed into Integra's neck. Illiad's nose was cold, but every shiver up her spine was near and dear to her.

Illiad was still with her, and that was all that mattered.

Integra knew she had dozed off when she woke suddenly to what she thought was the sound of Bentley growling. But Illiad didn't react, and the sound was so faint that Integra thought nothing of it, and dozed off again.

When Integra fully came around a second time, it was to the sight of a dwindling number of houses that was slowly fading into the English countryside. At best, they were fifteen minutes from Hellsing.

Bentley's growling had died down and quieted entirely; it only occurred to her that the sound had come from him at all when she looked and saw the fur between his shoulders standing on end. He was on alert, looking for something he couldn't seem to find. Walter seemed equally tense, his eyes searching the road and the area around it.

_Illiad_? Integra asked. _Do you notice anything unusual about Walter and Bentley?_

Her dæmon stirred in her arms, but only slightly. She opened one blue eye halfway and scanned the pair in the front seat.

_Yes,_ she said, narrowing her eye. _And this time it seems you do, too._ She adjusted herself in Integra's arms. _Bentley—_

Just as Bentley's name left her mouth, the left front tire exploded in a puff of air and rubber, sending the car swerving as Walter tried to keep it steady. Bentley was slammed into the door; Integra and Illiad were thrown sideways, with Integra managing to keep her hold on Illiad with one arm as the car swung one way to another. It finally came to a stop with its front end jutting out in the middle of the road. The only good to come out of it, aside from them being alive and relatively unharmed, was the lack of other cars on the road. It made for fewer problems, although in a way it put them in something of a dangerous situation.

Outside of the mansion, even with Walter at her side and Alucard not far away, Integra was vulnerable, and the six of them knew that.

It was enough to make Integra doubt that they had simply run over a shard of glass or a misplaced nail. There was something more going on here.

She leaned over to look out the window as Illiad clambered up onto her shoulder. She didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, although Bentley seemed to sense something she couldn't. The foxhound dæmon stood and turned anxious circles in the passenger seat.

"Bentley?" she asked, turning away from the window. "What—"

"Get out of the car."

Integra whirled around to find a black pistol pointed at her head. It, like its owner, appeared to have come out of nowhere, as did a number of other figures pointing similar guns at the car who Integra could see from the corner of her eye.

_So you've brought reinforcements, then? No matter._ They may have had guns, but she had Walter.

She opened her mouth to give him the order to tear the bastards to shreds when Illiad's claws pricked her shoulder.

_Integra!_

Integra shifted her eyes in her dæmon's direction, but didn't turn her head. _What is it?_

_There! Around her neck!_

_Hm?_ Integra followed the tip of the gun to the owner's hand, then up their arm to their face, and found a short-haired blonde woman staring down at her from behind a pair of green-tinted sunglasses. From there, Integra followed a pale string around the woman's neck to a wooden cross at the end. Her breath caught in her throat.

_They all had crosses around their necks, like the one on your bow._

Suddenly Integra could only focus on nothing more than the simple wooden cross dangling from the woman's neck. She was face to face with the people who had been abducting and severing children. She was surrounded. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Even if Walter cut them all to pieces, there were still more…they would still find her….

_My gun. Where the hell is my gun?_

It was as though Integra's mind had completely separated from her body. They weren't cooperating. She couldn't reach her gun.

There were only a few times she could name in her life when Integra had been rendered completely immobilized by fear. It was rare, even, but this was one of those times. She couldn't give Walter an order. She couldn't call for Alucard. _She couldn't move._ All she could do was sit and stare at the woman outside her car.

"Well?" the woman demanded in a light German accent.

_And I think she had a…a German accent…_

"Didn't you hear me?"

_Oh, and she wore all black, like a robe or something, I think…_

"Get out of the car!"

Integra's body still refused to cooperate, and by the time she fully registered what was happening, she was being dragged from the car. Illiad's claws were still tight to her overcoat, and when the woman yanked Integra out of her seat, the overcoat and Illiad were left behind in the car.

Integra couldn't hold back a scream of surprise as she hit the ground and was pulled up into the woman's arms into something of a chokehold. She spotted the woman's wolf dæmon as he leaped forward to meet a smaller blue shape that had shot out from the car. She watched as Illiad, hissing and spitting furiously, stood her ground against a dæmon three times her size.

As Integra struggled in her captor's arms, Illiad swiped at the wolf dæmon but missed. The wolf lunged at her with a growl and narrowly missed Illiad's flank.

In return, Illiad took another swipe at the wolf, claws extended, and landed a heavy blow on his muzzle.

Both the wolf and his counterpart let out yelps of pain. While the wolf snarled and lunged at Illiad again, his counterpart pulled Integra up and landed a heavy blow on her ribcage with the butt of her gun that left Integra sprawled in the grass, her vision flashing white. She could barely make out the sounds of the commotion going on around her.

Another blow to her ribcage had her seeing black.

Just as the woman took a handful of Integra's hair and pulled her up, Integra felt a sudden rush of nausea and dizziness; all the strength rushed out of her and she had an overwhelming sense of disgust. It wasn't until she was in the woman's chokehold again that she knew why.

One of the Paladins was holding Illiad.

This was different than when Samson had touched Illiad. That had been gentle, done with care, and done in a way that didn't cross Integra's comfort zone. But this…this was deliberate, calculated, cruel. This was done to cause Integra the most pain and discomfort possible.

"Illi— _hmphmm!"_ She was cut off by a cloth being held over her nose and mouth. She only had to take one breath to know that it was laced with something.

Integra held her breath, but her captor's chokehold tightened, forcing her to inhale. With air, she took in a lungful of whatever chemical laced the cloth. She shook her head in protest, trying to rid herself of the cloth. But between the effect of the chemicals and the forbidden physical contact with her dæmon, there was nothing she could do.

She was watching the world in front of her grow darker and more blurry with each breath. Even her mind was getting cloudier, with her only clear thought being of Alucard. Where was he? Why hadn't he come to help her? Didn't he know what was going on?

_Illiad, Illiad…_

_Get off her…_

_Alu…Alu…_

Her vision was growing dimmer, and soon she couldn't see anything at all.

_…card…_


	11. The Interrogation

_Illiad…Illiad…_

Where was Illiad? Where was her dæmon?

She couldn't focus her eyes. Wherever she looked, the environment moved. It was a hazy mass of gray and black, and it shifted faster than her eyes could adjust.

_Illiad…_

Why wasn't she answering?

_Illiad, Illiad…_

Fear and desperation flooded Integra's heart. Illiad always answered back, _always._ There was never a time when she didn't answer back. Why wasn't she now?

Panic engulfed her when she realized she couldn't feel, Illiad, either. Her dæmon was nowhere around her, at her side or by her head. She was nowhere where Integra was immediately aware of her. She was in the same room, but not close enough to her.

_"Illiad."_ Integra found her voice and called her dæmon's name. _"Where…? Where is she? Illiad…"_

Integra watched as a blurred black and pale blonde shape came into her field of vision and lingered over her. A hand from the shape appeared in front of her, gripping a white cloth. She protested weakly as the softness of the cloth hugged her face, and the drugs seeped into her lungs for a second time.

_No, no._

_Illiad, Illiad…_

The shape faded from view into black.

The room spun. Integra tried to blink, but her eyelids were too heavy to keep up. Her head buzzed, her ears rang, her sinuses throbbed. All she wanted to do was sleep it off, whatever it was.

_Only a few more minutes…_ Maybe then she would feel well enough to wake up. She shut her eyes and let comforting blackness engulf her.

Integra's head still buzzed when she next woke, but her sinuses no longer ached and the ringing in her ears had died down. Her eyelids felt light enough for her to open them some. The room was still blurry and senseless, but it at least stayed in one place.

She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings, and quickly found that her Illiad was nowhere to be seen. Her dæmon wasn't lying on the wooden table in front of her, or in her lap. But she was near. The distance of separation hadn't begun to affect them.

_Illiad?_

_I'm here._

Integra frowned, blinking away a new throbbing sensation in her forehead. _Where?_ She flinched at the sudden and unexpected feeling of a paw on her ankle from underneath the wooden chair she sat in. She shook her head. She couldn't seem to trust any of her senses. What was Illiad doing hiding under her chair?

_If I understand correctly, they put me here._

Memories of sickness and disgust rushed into Integra's stomach. The image of a Paladin cradling her Illiad made her shudder. She leaned forward in her chair, praying she wouldn't vomit. _They touched you,_ she whispered. _The contact rule exists for a reason. How dare they?_

Although Illiad didn't answer, Integra was fully aware of her dæmon's anger and disgust. She fought off the uneasy discomfort growing in her stomach that came from it.

She leaned back, taking a heavy breath to clear her lungs and her mind of the drugs that poisoned her, grimacing at the ache in her ribs. She needed to stay awake, she needed to think, and she couldn't do either one of those with the fog in her mind.

The more she breathed, the clearer her head came; the clearer her head was, the better she was able to think. And as her thinking improved, she formed a list of questions in her head, in no particular order of importance.

First: Where was she?

There was no clear answer to that, she concluded as she investigated the room. It was small, built completely from rock, and surprisingly well lit. The light source came from two small barred windows higher up on the walls, and the light, how perfect, converged directly into the center of the room, shining on Integra and the table and the second chair in front of her.

But where this room was specifically, she didn't know.

Second: What had happened?

She remembered without issue the Round Table meeting, and what had begun as a peaceful drive home. She remembered vaguely that something had been wrong between Walter and Bentley, that their relationship had seemed strained in the moments before they were…ambushed? Yes, ambushed. It was all coming back to her now.

Integra could almost hear the sound of the front tire exploding as the memory surfaced. The sound of the car screeching to a halt on the side of the road echoed in the back of her mind.

_Get out of the car._

Ah, yes, and then there was the lightly accented voice demanding that she get out of the car. There had been the follow up demand, only a repetition of the initial one. And then she had been dragged from the car, beaten—which would account for the aching in her ribs—, drugged, and dragged off to this isolated room.

Third, and it was more of a statement than a question: She was in a chair.

It was a simple wooden chair, and not very comfortable at that. Integra wondered how she could have been asleep in an armless chair all that time until she tried to reach under her glasses to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Her arms caught fast. She looked down and found her wrists bound and tied to the sides of the chair with rope. A second rope had been wrapped around her chest, pinning her to the back of the chair with little room to lean forward. She at least had enough room to breathe comfortably, which, ironically given the circumstances, she was thankful for. Her captors could have easily have made the rope so tight she couldn't breathe.

With a sigh, she pulled experimentally at her ropes. They weren't coming loose anytime soon.

_How are you feeling, Integra?_

"Better," Integra sighed. "What do you remember, Illiad?"

_Only as much as you,_ Illiad answered. _I do remember people robed in black. Like ones Samson mentioned._ Her voice trailed off into an irritated growl.

Integra tried to fight back the fear threatening to eat away at her. She was in the heart of enemy territory— _Catholic_ territory, at that. If they had no qualms about severing children from their dæmons there was no telling what they would do to her.

_We're next,_ Illiad whispered.

The words sent shivers up Integra's spine. She couldn't disagree with Illiad. Which led to her fourth question: Why?

It was broad, she knew, but there were so many _Why_ 's that fell into that one question. For starters: Why had they kidnapped her? Kidnapping children was one thing, but why go after her? For that to have happened, there had to be something larger at work going on here, but what that was, Integra didn't know.

Second, under the _Why_ category: Why were they severing dæmons? The traditional reason, preventing Original Sin from settling onto children, hardly seemed to fit the crime. Perhaps it had nearly two hundred years ago, but not now. The Church knew better than to try that again. It had cost them the General Oblation Board once, Integra remembered reading in Van Helsing's records, and they weren't willing to risk it again.

And there it was: Who?

If not the GOB, then who could the Church have employed to do their dirty work for them, if they dared walk that path again? It would have had to be someone, or a group of people, who would have had to remain out of the public eye and scrutiny. A group that perhaps, like Hellsing, _wasn't supposed to exist._

Ah, yes. That sounded terribly familiar.

Year after year, when a rogue vampire had sprung up in Ireland, Hellsing had been faced with opposition from one Alexander Andersen. Or rather, _Paladin_ Andersen. A high ranking member of the Iscariot Organization, the dirtiest of the Vatican's dirty little secrets.

_I should have known._

It was Iscariot who was behind the kidnappings, of the children and now of Integra. They were the ones who had kidnapped and severed children decades ago when Van Helsing had led the Hellsing Organization.

_There's nothing you can do now,_ Illiad reminded her.

_I know._ They weren't the words Integra wanted to hear, but she continued to hear them at every turn, after every new development in this case. Those six little words reminded Integra just how helpless, how powerless she was to stop these madmen, to keep the children of her country safe. She was constantly reminded of her inability to do both over the past two years, over the past week, when another child had gone missing under her watch.

After she saw this through, she never wanted to hear those words again.

All they could do was wait. There was very little light in the room they were confined to. A damp, yet musty smell lingered, seeping through the cracks between the stones that built up the walls. There wasn't even the sound of mice, as Integra would have expected. There was no sound but that of her heartbeat, and a faint ringing in her ears.

She drifted in and out of a light sleep, still waiting for the effects of the drug to wear off as she waited. When she wasn't sleeping, she was pulling experimentally at her ropes. But that only lasted so long; a strand of the rope slipped over the edge of her glove and rubbed her skin until it was red and raw. This ultimately happened on both wrists, and Integra was forced to admit defeat when Illiad complained of sore paws.

_Try to sleep some more,_ Illiad advised. _The drugs still aren't out of your system._

Integra could still feel the drugs coursing through her veins. Exhaustion still pulled at her; sleep called to her like an old friend. But it was an old friend she didn't want to speak to at the time. She wanted to stay awake to wait for her captors to interrogate her, and she was sure they would. Unless they had something else in mind for her and chose to skip the interrogation entirely. She had never been tortured before, but, as the past two years were proving, there was a first time for everything.

A knot twisted in her stomach and a pulse of sickness radiated from her chest that not even the cigar poking into her aching ribs could have pacified. She was alone, unguarded, without any nearby aid, in the heart of enemy territory. If she was inside the Vatican, and she was sure she was, there was no possibility of Alucard rescuing her. It was impossible for him to break through the religious barrier that surrounded the city. Even then, it would take him, and Walter, two hours to reach her, and even longer to find her inside Iscariot headquarters. This was a battle she was going to have to fight on her own, with only Illiad at her side.

_We'll survive,_ Illiad promised her. _We survived your uncle. We can survive this._ She reached out with one paw and laid it on Integra's ankle. _Please, Integra, try to sleep. You need to clear your head. Look at it this way,_ she sighed, _you can at least sleep without falling over._

Though it wasn't enough to calm Integra entirely, it was enough to make her crack a smile. "I suppose so." She took another breath in and let it out, feeling another bit of the drugs seep out of her lungs. It was going to be difficult trying to fall asleep now that the gears in her mind were spinning with an onslaught of thoughts she couldn't stop.

_Try_ , Illiad urged. _It's going to be a sleepless night._

_I know, Illiad._ She tucked lightly her chin in against her chest and shut her eyes, wondering if maybe the Iscariots would leave her alone for another little while if they thought she was still asleep.

Integra found she had somehow managed to fall asleep a second time. It was enough that her head felt clearer than it had when she had last been awake, and her mind was sharper, more aware of her surroundings. She was sure the sound of the cell door slamming at some point had just woken her now, perhaps an echo of an old sound or one that had been made just as she was waking up. Whatever the case, she was awake, and still alone with her dæmon, who was still lying under the chair.

"How's your head, Illiad?"

_Your head, my head,_ Illiad said, sighing, _It makes no real difference. It's as clear as yours now._

"Did you hear anyone come in?"

_I don't know,_ Illiad answered. _I thought I heard the door open. I could have just as easily imagined that. Did you sleep well? You seemed to have really dozed off for a while._

"I did," Integra answered. "Better than I would have expected."

_That's good to hear, considering how well they've tied you to the chair,_ Illiad commented with a purr. She tapped at the rope around Integra's ankles. _Goodness, they really don't want you going anywhere, do they?_

"I'm Hellsing's director," Integra reminded her. "It makes me a valuable hostage. Of course, they don't want me going anywhere."

Illiad crawled out from under the chair, setting off a light throbbing in Integra's temples, and leaped up onto the table to get a better look at her counterpart. _This is excessive,_ she hissed, eyes bright with alarm. _Where on earth do they think you'll be running off to? The door is locked at it is, and I'm sure there are armed guards everywhere, not to mention we have no idea where we are._

"They want me secure," Integra replied calmly, though slightly unnerved by Illiad's concerns. "They consider me a threat."

Illiad traced the perimeter of the table, looking around the room as she went. Integra watched her, wondering what it was her dæmon was learning from the environment that she hadn't.

Illiad's path around the table came to a halt right where she had started. She sat down and took a breath. _Like we thought: there's no other way out. I could cut you loose, but we're still trapped here._ She swiped her tongue around her teeth and studied Integra through narrowed eyes. _You're thirsty._

Integra swallowed. That was true, her mouth was dry. "I wish I could smoke," she said. "This craving is going to drive me mad." Of course, that was only part of it, if that was the reason at all. She was scared, more than she had ever remembered being before. She could see in Illiad's eyes that her dæmon knew that, but chose to play along.

Illiad only shrugged. _Maybe if you had a drink._

"I don't normally drink alcohol, Illiad."

_I meant water, Integra. Humor me some more, go on._

"Maybe later.”

_If it suits you._ The cat dæmon settled down, her head resting on her paws. She glanced at the door. _How long do you think they will keep us here? s_ he asked. _Don't they know it's rude to keep guests waiting?_

"It's Iscariot," Integra said. "I'm sure they have more important things to attend to than us."

_Hellsing's director and her dæmon?_ Illiad asked, raising her head. She narrowed her eyes, her tail swishing on the table top. _I should hope so._

"You know you can't touch them," Integra reminded her, feeling her dæmon's longing for a fight.

_No,_ Illiad said, _but I can touch their dæmons. They drug us, kidnap us, tie you to a chair, and then have the nerve to keep us waiting! I should be entitled to give those arrogant papists a piece of my mind!_

"You are, but you will not. 'Search and destroy' does not apply to you."

_I'm your dæmon, of course not. I can't go more than twenty feet from you._

"But even if you could."

_I know,_ Illiad sighed. She leaped from the table into Integra's lap and stood on her hind legs, looking over the rope wound around Integra's chest. _Oh, my dear Integra._ She rubbed her face against Integra's. _All I want to do is keep you safe._

"I know," Integra echoed. "But you can't always, you know that."

_Unfortunately, I do,_ Illiad said. _If something happens to me, you'll be hurt as well. Or worse._

"And we can't have that, now can we."

_Not as long as you're Hellsing's director._

Integra smiled. "And I will be until the day I die."

_Or retire,_ Illiad added. _Preferably retirement._

"We can only hope."

Illiad took a moment to look Integra over and stretched up to lick Integra's cheek.

"Illiad, what are you doing?"

_Getting the dirt off your face. You can't face Iscariot looking like you rolled around in the grass._ She sat back and adjusted Integra's cravat, then inspected her once more. _Much better._

Integra sat straight in her seat. "I'm ready whenever they have the time."

Illiad nodded. _As am—_ She stopped suddenly, her ears forward and alert. _Do you hear that?_

Integra gave her dæmon a silent nod. It was faint, but there was no doubt that there were footsteps coming toward the room. It was the first could outside the walls that Integra had heard the entire time.

As the footsteps grew closer, Illiad leaped from Integra's lap and ducked under the chair again _Let them come._

Integra watched unfazed as a white-haired man only a few years older than herself and nearly a foot taller swung the wooden door opened and stood in the doorway. His dæmon, a white-tailed buck, stared inquisitively over his shoulder. Behind him were four black-robed members of Iscariot and their dæmons. To her surprise, Andersen was not among them.

_Odd,_ she thought. Where could Andersen have been that he wasn't with this group?

_Does he even know I'm here?_ That was an odd question in and of itself, but it begged the question of just how much Andersen was involved. He hadn't led the assault on the car after the conference, and none of Integra's intelligence officers had reported Andersen leaving for England.

_There's something more going on. And I've gotten caught in the middle._ She should have been aware of the consequences of digging too deep, but it hadn't mattered to her. Children's lives were at stake; the cost of her investigation wasn't important.

The man, whom she presumed was the leader of Iscariot or at least some high-ranking official charged with interrogating her, stepped into the cell, a thin folder held against his chest. His dæmon followed him closely. The other visitors filed in behind him and fanned out around the room.

"Ah, Sir Integra," the man said in mock friendliness as he made his way toward the table. Integra watched his every moved; Illiad watched those of his associates. "I'm glad to see you are finally awake. You slept well, I hope? You were asleep for quite some time."

Integra said nothing. She would almost prefer to be forced back to sleep than to talk to him.

"Then I can only hope," he said, laying the folder on the table. "At least tell me, were you comfortable?"

"I was certainly secure," Integra replied. "Who are you?"

"Ah, where are my manners?" The man sat down across from her. "My name is Enrico Maxwell. I am the head of the Iscariot Organization. Despite the circumstances, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sir Integra."

"I don't believe I can say the same," Integra responded. "You have quite the nerve to keep me waiting this long. Untie me, and then maybe I'll talk with you."

"Untie you?" Maxwell scoffed. His dæmon tossed his head. "And let you do what? Shoot me?" He laughed. "I think not. No, until we are finished here, you will stay as you are."

_So try to get comfortable,_ the buck dæmon sneered. _If you can._

Annoyance burned in Integra's veins, but she refused to show it. "What is it you want?"

"That's better." Maxwell opened the folder and spread its contents out in front of Integra. To her shock, they were the notes she had put together over the course of two years and past week or so. And she remembered: she'd had the folder with her when she was abducted by Iscariot. They must have taken it with them when they took her. There was no doubt in her mind that Maxwell had read them all over in detail. He now knew as much as she did, as did the third party that had received her copy of the original files.

Integra drew a breath, trying to steady her pounding heart. There were now three organizations that were all on even ground. Whatever distance in lead she'd had over them was gone. Where she'd taken the upper hand from them after investigating, they had taken it back and brought themselves up to their level.

"We were aware that you were looking into us," Maxwell sneered, "but we hadn't realized just how far you had come."

Integra forced herself to tear her eyes away from the papers. "Why are you doing this? Those children were innocent."

Maxwell held up a finger. "I was hoping you would ask that. Although you seem to have a decent understanding of Dust, there are certain holes in your knowledge. Allow me to fill you in. You see, Integra, the Catholic Church is concerned with the manifestation of Original Sin in a physical form—Dust. When a dæmon settles, this Dust begins to grow attached to its human counterpart. Look around, Integra. Look at yourself. All of our dæmons have settled. As we speak, we are collecting Dust.

"Why do we still have dæmons, then, you ask? It is simple: The Church has greater use for those of us who still hold our dæmons close.

"I don't know if you realize, dear Integra, that there are ways of separating a human from his dæmon to prevent the continued collecting of Dust. You do know them. Good, I can move on.

"You must understand: children are still pure and innocent when their dæmons have not yet settled. It is after they settle, of course, that they begin to attract Dust. My job is to prevent them from becoming tainted. You have a firm grasp of the reasoning for that: The General Oblation Board was, as you know, disbanded almost two hundred years ago after it became clear they were sponsoring some rather… _unethical_ activities. After being reformed, they weren't willing to risk disbandment a second time. So, they passed the torch to Iscariot. What better option could there have been than to give the job to an organization that isn't supposed to exist?"

Hypocrisy was all Integra heard from Maxwell's mouth. The Board may have sponsored those _unethical_ activities, but Iscariot was carrying out those same ones. It was unethical all the way around, regardless of the organization carrying it out. Not to mention that Maxwell had blatantly _confessed_ to severing those children from their dæmons. Was the bastard even aware of what had happened to most of those children? Children like _Samson_?

"And what does this have to do with me?" Was it only because Integra had gotten too close to the truth that they had taken her? Did they want to silence her now, to keep her from revealing them? In the event that the latter was the case, they didn't seem to be in any real hurry to kill her. And if that was the case, how long were they planning on keeping her alive?

"To put it simply," Maxwell answered, "you got too close. And we just couldn't have that."

Integra narrowed her eyes, doubtful. While there was truth in Maxwell's words, there was also the impression that he was hiding something, that he had more on his mind than he was willing to tell her.

"And by 'we,'" she said, "do you mean you and whole of Iscariot? Or do you mean you and someone else?"

If he was so open to admitting that he had kidnapped those children, then perhaps he would be willing to disclose the third organization. Integra had a nagging doubt he wouldn't but it was worth the try.

"That matters not," Maxwell answered, proving Integra's doubt right. "What you need to know is that we've done those children good."

"You've done nothing of the kind!" Integra objected. "You violated our treaty when you allowed your operatives to raid my country and murder its children!"

Maxwell leaned forward, slamming his fist on the table. "Do you think it really mattered to me if two or three children from England had been severed?" he hissed. "I wouldn't have lost any sleep if every child in that country had lost its dæmon."

"And what about the children from your own country?" Integra challenged. "Did they deserve to be severed from their dæmons?"

The Iscariot leader didn't answer; Integra knew she had struck a nerve. That told her all she needed to know. Not only was he responsible for the missing children in England, but also the missing children in Italy, Spain, and Germany. He had more than overstepped his boundary. And it didn't seem that England's treaty was the only one Maxwell had violated.

Face twisting, Maxwell leaned back in his seat, fuming and struggling to regain his composure. "You know more than I gave you credit for," he muttered. He sifted through the remaining papers in the folder. "And your notes only tell me so much. I'd like to hear a little more from you, Sir Integra. Why don't we talk about this Samson boy? You seem to have quite an attachment of sorts to him. Did he touch a more motherly side of you that you didn't know you had?"

There was a taunt in those last words, Integra could hear it. She couldn't stop the rage from showing on her face. She could see the satisfaction on Maxwell's face and knew she had slipped up. He knew where it hit her where he would get a reaction out of her.

_Damn it._

She was losing control of herself, of the situation. She needed to get it back.

"Very interesting," Maxwell mused, looking over Integra's notes again. "Tell me something, Integra, what was it this boy told you that tipped you off to us? Your notes don't cover that little detail."

Integra didn't answer. What Samson told her was none of his business, and she was seeing now that it was better that she hadn't put all the details of her conversation with him into the folder.

_Tsk, tsk, tsk._ Maxwell shook his head in disappointment. "You were so talkative before. What a shame." He waved his hand to someone over Integra's shoulder, just out of her line of vision. "You seem to need some encouragement."

Footsteps echoed softly in the room as one of the four paladins walked forward and stopped behind Integra. The hair on the back of her neck stood up; she had never liked people standing behind her where she couldn't see them. Unless, of course, it was Alucard or Walter, trailing behind her to protect her. She shivered, wondering what form of "encouragement" Maxwell had in mind for her.

"They say that there is no greater breach of etiquette than for one human to touch another's dæmon," Maxwell explained slowly. "Even in battle soldiers will avoid touching their enemy's dæmon. Not even a dæmon with voluntarily touch a human that is not their counterpart. But then, you are aware of this, yes?"

Integra and Illiad froze, horrified. Yes, they were acutely aware of that breach. Illiad had been harshly manhandled by an Iscariot soldier when they had been ambushed. Integra remembered in great detail the weakness and vulnerability she had felt in that moment.

She swallowed dryly, grinding her teeth, both furious and scared. How could Maxwell even consider it? She dreaded the idea of having someone forcefully touching Illiad a second time.

"How dare you?" She forced the words out through her teeth, struggling to keep her voice level.

"I am only doing as I am commanded," Maxwell responded evenly. "I require answers, Sir Integra, and I will get them one way or another." He waved his hand.

It was in one quick movement from the paladin that saw Illiad dragged out from under the chair with a screech and slammed into the table. Integra involuntarily cried out, first in alarm, then pain, as the force of the impact registered with her. Her head swam, and when her vision finally cleared, she was greeted with the sickening sight of the paladin pressing her dear Illiad into the table.

_No…not again…_

"Illiad…"

_Integra…_

Dæmon and counterpart reached for each other, though the ropes held Integra firmly in place and Illiad could only reach as far as the edge of the table. Her claws sank into the wood; her hind paws pushed at the paladin's arm.

The same weakness and nausea Integra had felt the first time returned to her. She was aware of herself shaking, desperate for her dæmon. How far was Maxwell willing to go to get answers from her? Her breathing shortened. The rope hadn't tightened; instead, the paladin pushed the ball of his hand into Illiad's throat and his free hand into her side, nearly crushing her ribcage.

" _Stop,"_ Integra choked out, struggling to breathe. " _Stop it!"_

But Maxwell didn't. Integra could see him through blurry vision sitting back in his seat, watching the violation of her dæmon as though it was a normal occurrence.

_Stop this, Enrico!_ The demand came from Maxwell's dæmon, the white-tailed buck. _You've gone too far!_

Maxwell glowered at his dæmon, setting off a silent argument between the two. It took too long; Integra was near entirely limp in her seat. Illiad's fur had paled and sparked weakly.

"Enough." At last the official order came from Maxwell. The paladin released Illiad, leaving the dæmon weak and twitching, and stepped back. Integra slumped in her seat. Her system was in shock, overloaded with two etiquette breaches and two doses of drugs. She tried to blink away the fog in her vision, feeling water trail down her face. She couldn't stop it.

All she wanted now was to sleep, with Illiad curled up against her inside her dress shirt, where she would be close to Integra and safe from the hands of the Iscariot paladins.

"Release her," Maxwell ordered, the last snippet of a conversation between him and his dæmon Integra hadn't heard. "Take her to the lower level. We will take three days to think this over."

On a second order, a pair of two other paladins came forward and began to cut Integra loose from her bonds. They held her gently against the back of the chair, ensuring she wouldn't topple over onto the floor, and helped her to her feet when they had finished. She leaned heavily on the nearest one, a young brunette with a leopard dæmon. The woman slung Integra's arm over her shoulder, keeping her steady.

"I'll take you," she volunteered. "Rikku can take your dæmon."

Integra hesitated, reluctant to accept help from anyone Iscariot and even more reluctant to let someone else handle her dæmon again. She looked down at Illiad for consultation. Illiad gave her a weak nod, and she allowed the leopard to take her gently in his mouth from the table and place her on his back. His counterpart adjusted her grip on Integra, slinging Integra's arm over her shoulder and letting the Hellsing director lean against her.

"Thank you," Integra whispered, forgetting herself.

The paladin nodded a silent reply as she led Integra from the room. The only thing that stopped her was the sound of Calidor's voice.

_Make sure she is properly taken care of. She may be going to the lower levels, but we are not barbarians._

Integra's assistant nodded. "We will make sure of it."


	12. Three Days' Darkness

The paladin set Integra down slowly and gently, laying her down on a plain wooden bed attached to one wall of a small cell on a lower level of Section Thirteen. By this time, Integra was dead weight in the girl's arms, having practically had to have been dragged down the stairs. She lay limply on the plank, half-conscious and pleading silently for her dæmon.

The paladin's leopard dæmon, Rikku, looked over Integra with concern. He and his counterpart had been with Iscariot for six years but had never seen Maxwell order something as heinous as what he had seen in the interrogation room. It troubled him in ways he couldn't begin to understand; again the feeling nagged at him that he and Marna needed to leave Iscariot not as soon as this nightmare was over, but before. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to get more caught up in this than he wanted or anticipated, and he feared for Marna's safety. He had never felt safe at Iscariot with devout religious men and women who looked down on her simply for his settled form.

He took Integra's dæmon, Illiad, if he remembered correctly, from his back and placed her down gently on the plank. He nosed her toward her counterpart, mindful of Integra. He didn't want to make contact with her, accidental or otherwise. He didn't want to hurt Marna.

His counterpart knelt down by Integra's head. She moved a stray lock of blonde hair from Integra's face and ran her hand over Integra's head until the younger woman fell asleep. When she had, Marna leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on her forehead.

"May God keep you safe," she whispered, and stood up.

As he followed her out, Rikku felt a pang of sadness. He wanted to be able to comfort Integra, but the contact rule held him back. Such was the life of a dæmon.

Maxwell and Calidor had been the last ones to leave the interrogation room. Now they sat up in Maxwell's office, once again running through the notes stolen from Integra. He had to admit, she had been very thorough in her research. He would have admired it, too, and he did to a certain degree, had she not gotten as close as she did. She always had been nosy to a certain extent, putting her foot where it didn't belong. Among other things, it was about time she learned the consequences of sticking her nose into other people's business. That, however, was not the reason she was in Iscariot custody. Maxwell had other reasons for holding her, all of them having to do with her monstrous pet vampire.

He stacked the papers neatly and stored them back in the blue folder. He slipped it into a drawer on the left side of his desk for safe keeping. Integra wasn't going to need that any longer.

_You've already made your decision,_ Calidor commented from where he lay beside Maxwell's chair.

"Yes," Maxwell answered simply. He had made his decision two years ago when this mess began, when the Major had tasked him with taking Hellsing out of the equation. He didn't need to take three days to think the matter over. He only wanted to make Integra wait. She didn't deserve to know her fate right away. She deserved to have her imagination run wild for a little while, have it conjure every possible hell her panicked mind could come up with. Three days was a long time. Anything could happen in three days.

_But will three days be enough time to do this before Andersen finds out?_

Maxwell flinched inwardly, having nearly forgotten about Andersen. He pointless mission he had sent the paladin on was going to take him a day at most, not long enough to go through with the initial plans. But they had come so far, and that was a risk Maxwell was willing to take.

"I have a feeling Andersen will have enough to keep him busy until then." But Maxwell didn't completely believe what he said. Andersen wouldn't be fooled for long.

For once, though, Hellsing might prove to be useful.

It was the smell of something garlicky and with a hint of chicken that brought Integra around sometime later. She had no idea how long she'd been out, only that she had passed out soon after, if not before, she had been dropped off in the cell on what she found to be an uncomfortable wooden plank. She vaguely remembered the sound of someone's soft voice, the whisper of a prayer, and two separate kisses on her forehead.

Integra shifted, feeling somewhat less numb and more in control of her body. She felt Illiad's warmth pressed against her body, and sighed in relief. Her dæmon was close to her and only her.

She blinked, finding her vision to be hazy and unfocused, even with her glasses on. She closed her eyes, opened them, and blinked again. As her vision came into focus, she began to make out a spotted yellow form watching her from beside the plank. Next to the form she made out to be a leopard dæmon was his counterpart, the woman who had carried Integra down to the lower level.

"You're awake," the woman said softly. "How do you feel?"

Integra sighed. "Better," she answered. She raised her head from the bench. "Why are you here?"

The leopard shrank visibly. His counterpart reached over and ran her hand over his head. "Calidor wanted to make sure you were taken care of," she said. "Rikku and I brought you this." She held up a bowl full of cloudy yellow liquid Integra recognized to be chicken broth. It seemed innocent enough, but how did she know Maxwell and Calidor hadn't ordered someone to lace it with something? She had enough drugs in her system. If there were more in the broth, she was going to refuse it.

"It's safe," the paladin said quickly. "I watched them make it. It's safe, really."

Integra sighed. She was still ready to refuse it, aside from the possibility of it being drugged or worse, in favor of getting more sleep. Her head was throbbing with again with a vengeance.

"Thank you." She sat up slowly, trying to minimize the ache in her head, and leaned back against the wall.

The woman nodded, but didn't hand the bowl to Integra. "Do you want any help with this?" she asked. "You might be a little weak...still..." She trailed off, meeting the cold stare Integra gave her. The Hellsing leader was in no mood to be called weak, even if it rang true to some degree.

_Go easy on her, Integra,_ Illiad whispered. _She's only trying to help._

Integra relaxed, softening her gaze. "No, thank you," she said gently. "I'll manage." She took the bowl from the girl and drank slowly, finding she had little difficulty holding it without assistance. Her stomach flipped at first, unwilling to cooperate with her, but soon enough it began to agree with what Integra was putting in it.

Halfway through, she lowered the bowl and faced the paladin still kneeling beside the plank. "What's your name?"

"Marna," was the quick and soft answer.

Integra took note of it and looked to the leopard dæmon. "And your dæmon? Rikku is his name, isn't it?"

The leopard nodded slowly, as did Marna. "He doesn't say very much."

The leopard dæmon's tail swished gently over the stone floor. He let out a soft huff.

Integra heard the soft rumble of Illiad's purr. There was something happening between the two. A wordless exchange of sorts.

When they had settled down, Integra finished off the broth and handed the bowl back to Marna, who took it and stood up.

"Will you be all right?"

Integra blinked, suspicious yet surprised at the sudden worry a member of Iscariot was expressing for her. She appeared to mean well enough, but past encounters with Andersen had left a bad taste in Integra's mouth. "Yes," she answered, "I'll be all right."

Marna only nodded and left without another word.

With a sigh, Integra swung her legs back up onto the plank and lay down. Perhaps now she could get some sleep without any further interruptions. She made herself as comfortable as possible on the plank, holding Illiad close to her. They lay silent until sleep claimed them once again.

Marna hadn't realized how tightly she was holding the bowl until Rikku reached up and tapped her hand with one paw. She loosened her grip and looked down at him, finding his eyes wide and staring at her with concern. "I'm fine," she assured him.

But Rikku didn't look even half convinced as he reached up to take the bowl in his mouth and give her a break before she cracked a nail. He gave her one of his usual huffs that covered any part of the emotional spectrum and beyond. It was the primary way he communicated with Marna and rarely other dæmons; he never gave that huff to other people, and he never spoke verbally. Verbal communication for him was a rare event. When it happened, it meant he was overly bothered by something, and hearing his voice, however nice it may have been, was something Marna in the past years had come to dread.

She ran her hand from his head down to between his shoulders and toyed with a few strands of short spotted fur. They both knew something was wrong, with what specifically, they didn't know. But they were feeding off the insecurities of each other, and it was enough now that they were on constant alert with their fellow Iscariots and on edge with Maxwell. They wanted to run from Iscariot and never look back. Where to, they didn't know, but they had already decided that England was out of the question, as was Ireland, and nowhere in Italy was safe. There was always America, they supposed, where it would be difficult to find them in a country that large and with so much area to cover. It was likely the one place they would be safe if, and when, they decided to run.

She took a light hold on Rikku's scruff. Maxwell had ordered them to look after Integra for the time being, though Marna wondered just how long that was going to last. When Maxwell had given her the order, it had seemed too deliberate, too calculated, as if there was more a reason to giving her that assignment than just keeping her busy, which in and of itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Marna was one of, if not the, least active member of Iscariot, rarely leaving the headquarters on assignment when there was one and never attending training sessions. She had never picked up a gun of any kind in her life, making her wonder just how exactly she had gotten the job with Iscariot.

And it was always with a sinking feeling that it was because of Rikku's settled form. How could a woman with a leopard dæmon serve the Church to the fullest? She was sure she had been assigned to Iscariot as a way of getting rid of her quickly without denying her what she wanted to do.

Marna Hadrian was a woman some considered to be too smart for her own good. But that could be expected from a devout Catholic with a leopard dæmon who was silently scrutinized by other devout Catholics. She came to know when something was meant to harm her.

"How much longer do we have?" she asked.

Rikku huffed three times. Marna took that to mean _three days_.

It wasn't very much time to prepare a final plan. But it would do.

Marna's second visit seemed like it was only minutes after the first, when in fact it was more than that, though perhaps not yet a full day. Integra and Marna sat in silence while Integra drank slowly from the bowl. When there was conversation, it was short and limited to Integra's health. Aside from that, they were silent.

When Integra finished she handed the bowl to Marna and watched as the woman griped it hard enough in one hand to turn her knuckles white. She didn't miss it and neither did Illiad.

_Something's bothering her,_ she commented, eyes narrowed.

_Indeed. Shall we find out what?_

_Tread lightly, Integra,_ Illiad advised. _She's jumpy._

_Noted._ "May I ask you something, Marna?"

The paladin took a shaky breath. "If you must."

"Where is Father Andersen? I was sure I would be seeing him sometime soon." Integra meant it to sound harmless enough, though what lay underneath was anything but. She needed answers and she was going to get them whatever way she could.

The bowl trembled in Marna's hand. "Father Andersen is out on business," she answered. "He won't be back for a while."

_I see._ "Thank you, Marna."

"You're welcome." Marna stood hurriedly and left the cell without a second glance back.

Illiad raised her head from her paws. _Well, she's in quite a hurry, isn't she? It must have been your question._

"It may well have been," Integra said. "That particular subject didn't seem to sit well with her. I can only imagine why." That, of course, was rhetorical. She knew exactly why.

_Andersen has no idea we're here,_ Illiad voiced. _I highly doubt Maxwell ever informed him of his plans. With Andersen out of the way, it was easier to abduct us. He may not like us, but kidnapping is not a level he would fall that low to meet. He has a conscience, Integra, despite our quarrels with him._

Integra took the words into consideration, an idea forming in her head. "Tell me, Illiad, what will happen if Andersen arrives after Maxwell has...thought our case over?"

Illiad's fur bristled. She stared at Integra. _Maxwell can do whatever he pleases with us. Integra, we really are next._

"Marna."

Marna jumped, nearly dropping the bowl. Her heart pounded as she turned to face Maxwell and Calidor. Behind her, Rikku cowered. "Father Maxwell...what can I do for you?"

"How is Sir Integra?"

She gulped, trying to steady the shaking in her hands. "She's...better..."

"Good." The head priest trailed off thoughtfully. He laid two fingers over his mouth, lost in thought and leaving Marna shaking in worry. What was it that was going through Maxwell's head? Was it something to do with her? "Tell me something, Marna: did Miss Hellsing ask you anything?"

Marna took a shaky breath, gathering her thoughts. "Well, sir, she...she did ask about Father Andersen...Where he was. She, um, was expecting to see him here..."

Maxwell's violate eyes narrowed. "And what did you tell her?"

The grip Marna had on the bowl tightened considerably; she was half afraid she was going to break it. "I-I told her he-he was away on business. Father, was I wrong to answer?"

"No," the priest answered slowly. "Not at all, my child. You've done nothing wrong, Marna, I assure you," he added. She knew he was trying to calm her, but it was difficult to do when she was sure he had ulterior motives.

"Thank you, Father," she choked out.

Maxwell simply nodded and waved his hand to dismiss her. She wasted no time in rushing off to return the bowl to the kitchen. The sooner she got away from him, the better.

_She's nervous,_ Calidor commented as they made their way back to Maxwell's office.

"She always has been," Maxwell dismissed. "Her dæmon's settled form is no real fault of her own. I can't hold her accountable for that." But regardless, he couldn't hide his disapproval, for lack of a better word. All things considered, Maxwell somehow failed to understand how it was that a woman with a leopard dæmon could be so devout and have such a desire to serve the Church. "How long has she been here, Calidor?"

_Six years,_ the buck answered.

"For what purpose?"

_She wanted to serve God, of course. Why else? Though they could have placed her anywhere else, we both know why she ended up with us._

"They wanted a quick job of it," Maxwell confirmed. It wasn't just the Iscariots, including Andersen, though he tried not to, who were wary of Marna and her leopard. It was his superiors as well. No one fully trusted Marna, but no one was willing to send her away when she was so desperate to live a fully devout life. Perhaps, ironically, it was the leopard form that had driven her to it. No one knew for sure; they could only speculate, and it was beginning to reach a high point. "We can make it quicker."

_And painless,_ Calidor added. _Shall I have her dismissed from her current duties?_

"No," Maxwell said. "Leave her be. Wait until the morning of the third day to have her dismissed. Inform her then."

Calidor looked up knowingly at his counterpart and nodded. _I will do that._

It was immediately clear to Integra on what she thought was the second day that something was different about Marna. Without speaking, the paladin entered the cell, dropped off the bowl at Integra's side, and left just as quickly as she came. There wasn't even an exchange of noises between Rikku and Illiad. There was no exchange between Integra and Marna, either, not even a simple nod. Marna never even made eye contact.

Integra drank the broth slowly, thinking over Marna's behavior. It had something to do with Maxwell, she was sure. Either he had directly ordered Marna not to speak to her, or he had spooked her into it. The latter seemed more likely, given Marna's sensitivity about her dæmon's settled form.

_Or he thinks one of us is a security risk,_ Illiad added.

"That wouldn't surprise me." Integra finished off the broth and set the bowl down on the floor. She leaned back against the wall, letting Illiad climb into her lap. "How long do you think we've been here?"

_A day and a half perhaps?_ Illiad guessed. _Marna may have come three times, but there hasn't been enough time in between._

Integra sighed thoughtfully and, much to her dæmon's displeasure, reached into her coat pocket for her lighter and the only cigar she had on her. She made it a point to always have one or two on her person when she didn't have a full tin in front of her. She lit it and took a heavy breath on it, and blew out a cloud of white smoke. She took the cigar into her hand before Illiad could swat it from her mouth.

_If that German ambassador had never given you those damn cigars, you never would have taken up smoking!_ Illiad crouched angrily on Integra's lap. Her hiss was cut off by a cough as Integra replaced the cigar in her mouth.

"And if not the German ambassador, then someone else," Integra retorted. "It was nearly inevitable, Illiad." Although she wasn't so sure that was true; sometimes she wasn't even sure _why_ she had taken up smoking in the first place. It was even at the point where she couldn't remember _when_ she'd started.

_Well, then perhaps you could have waited until you were twenty._ Illiad coughed again. _You shouldn't have been smoking at sixteen anyway._

So that was when she'd started. Sixteen. Two years before she'd been legally allowed to do so, although in her position—head of Hellsing at twelve—it really didn't matter.

"You wouldn't have been any happier if I had," she countered.

_No, but it at least would have been easier for me to accept. Look at you, you might as well be an addict. How many cigars do you have in your pocket? Three? Four?_ There was humor in Illiad's voice, but there was also a very obvious note of seriousness.

"This was the only one. I only smoke once a day, if that."

_Once a day, my tail! I've seen you pull out three within the span of six hours! Stress or not, you shouldn't smoke that much, Integra. Even once a week is too much by my standards._

Integra smirked. "Your standards, my standards; it makes no real difference."

_You mock me._ Illiad's whiskers twitched.

"You wanted me to humor you. I felt compelled to oblige."

_Touché._ Illiad pressed her head into Integra's stomach. _You've won this time. But I still don't like you smoking._

The last day and a half of Integra's waiting remained relatively the same. Marna came and went without conversation and Integra and Illiad were generally left to their own devices. When not sleeping, which she seemed to be doing a lot of, Integra was lying on the plank with Illiad sprawled out on her stomach, staring up at the stone ceiling, lost in thought. She periodically smoked the one cigar she had with her, having tried to save it for later. It seemed to have worked, and while she lay on the plank she smoked it slowly in spite of Illiad's disapproving stares.

Having that much time alone and without any other contact than with her dæmon had left Integra with more than enough time to think. She wondered about Samson, how he was holding up without his Grayla, whom Integra hadn't forgotten about in her search for who had taken the dæmon in the first place; thought about Alucard, who for some reason hadn't been fast enough to stop the Iscariots from taking her; and worried about Walter, who had been caught up in the middle of the attack, but not taken with her as far as she was aware. There was so much going on outside the four walls of the cell that she didn't know about, in her own country and that much more on the floors above her.

She wondered if the Round Table had gotten word of her abduction; if Alucard was out looking for her, although she didn't know how he would get into the Vatican let alone Iscariot headquarters; if there were still children going missing, although in her gut she doubted that was the case. It appeared to her that Iscariot had been aiming to abduct her for quite some time, but had never had the perfect timing or excuse to do so. And speaking of excuses, there had to be a better one for her kidnapping than simply "she got too far into her investigation." That alone led her to believe that something more was going on, although what that was, she didn't know. However, it was becoming quite clear to her that the intention was to sever her from Illiad, but again that purpose remained unclear. There were so many questions she didn't have answers to, and so many pieces she didn't have the place for. What she had was a handful of questions and chunks to a puzzle with an unclear picture. Putting all the pieces together was impossible with so few in possession.

Eventually, Integra's mind tired itself out, and she had to remove the cigar from her mouth and put it out before she dozed off with it in her mouth. She pressed the burned, ashen end into the wall, watching as bits of charred material fell beside her onto the plank. She tapped it once, twice, three times to be sure it was out before tucking it inside her jacket pocket. It would probably be the last time she smoked it.

Soon enough she did doze off slightly, only to be fully woken by the sound of a group of people coming down the hall. In some way it was almost a shame she had to sit up and talk to the Iscariots; she had gotten so used to the peace and quiet, however loud her mind may have been. But she did sit up, nudging a reluctant Illiad from her stomach, and made herself as presentable as possible considering the circumstances.

It was with great displeasure that she faced Maxwell and three Paladins a second time, noting that Marna was not among them this time around. It sparked worry in her heart for reasons she didn't quite understand, adding to the forever-growing puzzle. Something told her Marna's reasons for her absence were not of her own doing. Could Maxwell really have turned on one of his own?

That remained to be seen.

Maxwell greeted Integra with a smug, arrogant smile, one she wanted to and would have shot off his face had she had access to her gun. As expected, he informed her he had come to his decision, which she was sure he had made the first the day they had spoken, and delivered it to her with no remorse.

She should have expected it, and yet, for some reason, she did not.

Samson's face was the first thing that ran through her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kept forgetting to update this sorry


	13. Aftermath

Alucard had spent so long detached from his dæmon that he forgot she had her own intuition, and as a result sometimes forgot to listen to her. He had relied on his own intuition for so long that he didn't think enough of it when she became increasingly irritated beside him. Her hood fanned, she straightened up, hissing, and wriggled uncomfortably on the stone floor.

He glanced offhandedly at her from where he sat. "Can't you stay still?"

Eprimav hissed at him, hood fanned to its full potential. _Can't you feel it, you fool?_

"Feel what?"

_Integra. Illiad._

Now _that_ caught Alucard's attention. Because, and he would never admit this to Eripmav, he _couldn't_ feel what she was feeling. His master had been quite closed to him in the past few days, though in that time he had felt uncharacteristically distanced and shut off from Integra, with the exception of the few times she had been emotionally vulnerable. Only then, when her guard was down, had he been fully able to tell that something was bothering her.

This was another of those times when Integra was so guarded in her thoughts that she shut Alucard out? Why? Well, that was a mystery all on its own, when Alucard was sure Integra's thoughts should have been loud enough for him to hear all the down in the basement. Perhaps, instead, her mind was so cluttered that it had effectively gone mute. It wouldn't have surprised Alucard, seeing how stressed his master had become.

At his dæmon's words, he tried to pay more attention to Integra's thoughts, but could find nothing.

"What about them?"

Now he was on edge. If Eripmav's was feeling anxious and worried, there had to be a good reason for it.

_Something's wrong,_ she hissed. _They're in trouble._

Alucard sat up. Eripmav's intuition had never been wrong. It had taken him over five hundred years to pay attention to it. But it was only going to take one incident to make him really _listen._ And it was going to be this one incident, where Integra's wellbeing was at stake, that would make him realize just how foolish he had been in failing to heed his dæmon's words.

"How can you tell?" He didn't doubt that Eripmav was sensing something, but, like his feelings about Integra, hers came from having a connection of sorts to Illiad, rather than Integra herself.

_I can hear Illiad—faintly. Can you hear Integra?_

"No."

_Try, idiot. Her life is in danger._

Agitated, worried, and slightly offended, Alucard opened his mind to any message his master might send him. It was useless to focus his energy on her when her mind was so closed. It would have been impossible to find her if her thoughts were as faint as he was sure they were; rather, he thought it better to sit back and let her thoughts come to him.

It was all he needed to do.

In a faint and fading voice, he heard the last trail of a whisper from Integra's mental voice.

_Alu…Alu…_

_…card…_

Waking up on the side of the road was one thing. Waking up on the side of the road without your dæmon in sight was another.

Walter's first and immediate concern as he woke to grass in his face was Bentley's location. His dæmon wasn't in front of him, or at his feet. Bentley wasn't anywhere in his field of vision, but he wasn't very far, either. Walter couldn't feel the tell-tale signs of pulling that meant they were too far apart.

_Bentley?_

His head was too clouded for him to move. Mental communication would have to do.

Bentley didn't answer, leaving Walter to worry about his dæmon's wellbeing. But he sensed he was still whole, still attached to Bentley, and his dæmon was simply taking longer to recover than he anticipated.

When Bentley did finally answer, a few moments after Walter had closed his eyes to relieve the throbbing in his head, his words were slurred.

_Wal...Wal'er?_

Well, at least he was unharmed otherwise.

_Oh, good._

He longed for his dæmons warmth, but they were both too influenced to move. This would have to do.

_Shu'up,_ Bentley grumbled, uncharacteristically childish. He must have had a heavier dose of the drugs than Walter. Or perhaps he was feeling the amplified effects of Walter's dose and his own.

Bentley dosed off, dragging Walter down with him.

His second concern was Integra. He had lost track of her during the attack when they had both been dragged out of the car and drugged. He didn't know where she was now, though she could have been lying on the other side of the car for all he- _Oh no._

That attack, he realized suddenly, had been the one with the purpose of abducting Integra. He hadn't been expecting it so soon, although he should have, as there had been no more opportune time to take Integra than when she was isolated and without the limitless protection of Alucard.

He should have known.

But the attackers were not of Millennium's soldiers, not under the Major's command. They were not vampires, but humans, highly trained humans, and without a doubt the ones the Major had recruited to abduct Integra. Walter thought he vaguely remembered wooden crosses hanging from around their attackers' necks, and remembered Integra's words about Samson: "His captors all wore crosses around their necks."

It was all coming together. The people who were kidnapping and severing children from their dæmons were the same ones who had taken Integra. They were the same people the Major had reportedly recruited to carry out the abduction, and Walter knew from there what was to become of Integra. The circle was coming to a close, and Walter was realizing then, too late, just how deep in everyone was.

_You should have known better._

Damn right he should have. The Major was handing Integra off to a different party, who would cut Illiad away, before having her handed over to Millennium. Walter didn't know what was to become of his former charge then, having been under the impression that Integra would be left unharmed when the Major removed her from the equation. This, however, was something entirely different, something he had not been counting on. He had seen a child without a dæmon once. He didn't want to see it again, and yet he couldn't stop himself from picturing Integra in the same situation: pale-faced, shocked, lonely...sitting huddled in a blanket on a street corner sobbing for her dæmon. It was an image he didn't want to see. But it was an image he had driven Integra to.

_I told you you were going to destroy her._ The words came from Bentley, clearer and laced with anger and regret. _You arrogant, pompous fool, how many times had I told you you would ruin her? How many times did you ignore me? Was it really going to take Integra's life to get you to listen to me?_

_I can fix this._

_Ignorant bastard, you're too late._

_I need to get to Hellsing._

Walter ignored him, no matter how much the words hurt. Integra had found something in her family records that had spurred her into calling a Round Table conference, though she had never shared with him what it was. Now, he needed to know.

In spite of the throbbing in his head and the urge to fall back to sleep to rid his system of the drugs, Walter moved to get up, only to have a hand on his shoulder stop him.

"You're in no condition to drive."

He recognized the cool, raspy voice of Alucard. The vampire was there, finally, but what the hell had taken him so long? Why hadn't he shown up at the beginning of the attack?

"There's an ambulance on its way," Alucard continued. "As well as the police and a tow truck. _Stay down._ "

Alucard's voice became firm. He forced Walter down when he tried to get up a second time. Though, in all fairness, what Walter wouldn't have minded knowing now who had been around to call nine-nine-nine and why they hadn't stuck around.

"Bentley?"

"He's fine. Eripmav is with him."

Walter looked up, head spinning, and was eventually able to make out the brown-and-white shape of Bentley lying in the grass not too far from him. Eripmav was coiled at his side. It brought him some relief and he did as Alucard advised, rather forcefully, and lay back down in the grass.

It wasn't long before the promised vehicles came: an ambulance, a tow truck, and two police cars. Walter was still in the grass, Alucard at his side, though by the time everyone had arrived he was sitting up against the back of the car. He and Alucard sat in silence, Walter gathering his thoughts and Alucard's expression and mental state unreadable behind his orange-lensed glasses.

The vampire stood by while the paramedics checked Walter over. He was uninjured, but groggy still as a result of the drugs, which he pointedly failed to mention, although it hadn't mattered because it had nearly worn off, and there was nothing much the paramedics could do aside from letting it wear off. That said, the police moved in to take Walter's statement, a fabricated story of a flat tired turned into a botched mugging. He failed to mention Integra, letting the officers believe that she had never been in the car, and luckily and unfortunately there was no evidence to suggest the contrary. That was a good thing, considering that what Hellsing was facing now was a trouble all its own that didn't call for the involvement of any other law enforcement agency outside of it. In fact, the fewer people who knew about Integra's kidnapping, the better.

_Alucard._

Alucard's attention was brought away from the scene in front of him by Eripmav. He watched her slither over to the front left tire of the car, hidden from view, before the tow truck crew could get to it. She nosed the front tire, her head eventually disappearing for a few seconds before reemerging with something in her mouth. She went to Alucard, who knelt and held out his hand to receive the object his dæmon had dislodged from the ruined tire.

_That was no nail Walter ran over,_ she said. She deposited a dented and partially flattened metal object into his gloved palm. He rolled it out onto the tip of his finger and held it between his index finger and his thumb, rolling it back and forth to inspect it further. _That tire was shot._

Alucard nodded discreetly and gave the bullet back to her. _Hold onto that._ The police need never get a hold of it. Let them believe the false muggers had taken the nail with them.

With a soft nod, Eripmav took the bullet back into her mouth. _We'll discuss this later._

_Of course._

They hung back until the tow truck had gone with the car, promising to have it ready in a few hours, and the paramedics had cleared out and gone, leaving only them and Walter and the two remaining police officers. One of those was Chief Wilson, who Alucard recognized from the day Integra had encountered Samson. _How appropriate._

Only then, after all other parties had gone, did Alucard and Eripmav join Walter, who sat on the edge of the back seat of Chief Wilson's car. Bentley lay beside him, teeth set and occasionally ground in frustration. Whatever rift had been growing and festering between them had grown worse in the short time Integra had been missing. Alucard recognized a souring relationship when he saw one. This was as clear as could be.

"Chief Wilson called us a cab," Walter informed him. "Or me, rather, if you choose to leave beforehand."

Alucard smiled. "I'll stay until the cab comes. I've never been one for modern means of traveling, though I hardly object if it is required."

The butler nodded, his expression darkening into seriousness. "You and I have a number of things to discuss," he said, to which Alucard nodded in confirmation and Eripmav adjusted her hold on the bullet. If Walter saw, he gave no sign. "We'll talk at home. No one outside Hellsing needs to know about this."

And by "this," of course, he meant the true version of events that had transpired, and there was indeed much to discuss.

Having not bothered to check into a hotel, assuming he would only be in England for a few hours, Andersen instead called a cab to take him directly to Hellsing. This, although a good choice for him, did not turn out to be a good choice for the driver who had picked him up. The man frequently glanced back in the rearview mirror at Andersen and Andreas, wary and nervous of the clear anger than radiated off them. His jackrabbit dæmon had disappeared under the glove box when Andersen and Andreas slipped into the back seat, and remained there, cowering on the floor, ears flattened against its body.

Andersen and Andreas largely ignored the pair, too wrapped up in their own thoughts to care. Andersen worried about Bernardo, who had yet to return to the orphanage, and hoped he wouldn't return home to another funeral. At the same time, he berated himself for not having stayed for Rafael's funeral (or to wait for Bernardo), but in truth, he was afraid and uneasy to be at a funeral for someone as young as Rafael. He knew he should have been there, but the thought of burying a little boy upset him in ways he could barely begin to comprehend. He could have told himself he had to confront Hellsing about their unholy practices and that was the reason for his absence, but the truth was much simpler than that, however much it bothered him to admit.

And how many more children would have gone missing from the orphanage had he stayed and waited? It sounded like excuse after excuse, and perhaps it was, but Andersen couldn't let this go any longer. He wanted to put an end to this as soon as possible.

Alucard had elected to meet them at the mansion rather than ride back with them. He had left not long after the cab had arrived, leaving Walter and Bentley to their own devices. They were to meet him in the basement when they returned from a rather uneventful rise that consisted mainly of them sleeping and refusing to speak to each other, or rather, Bentley refusing to speak to Walter. He was at least agreeable enough to stay curled against Walter's leg.

When they, at last, arrived home clear-headed and sober, Alucard was, just as promised, waiting for them in the basement, seated in his usual chair. On the stand beside him was a wine glass filled three-quarters of the way with blood. Lying next to that was the empty bag the contents had come from and his glasses.

Coiled at the foot of the chair was Eripmav, beady black eyes watching the pair. Her mouth was open slightly, partially revealing a small metal object. Walter thought she'd been hiding something in her mouth at the scene. Now he knew for sure.

"We have much to discuss," the vampire stated flatly, drawing Walter's attention away from Eripmav.

"Indeed. Why don't we start with what Eripmav has in her mouth?"

The cobra dæmon, at Alucard's silent behest, unraveled herself from her coil and slithered forward to drop the mangled bullet at Walter's feet.

Walter bent down and picked up the dented object in between his forefinger and thumb. Despite the damage, he recognized the object as a bullet. It had been crushed by the impact with the tire, making its caliber and matching gun nearly impossible to determine just by looking at it. It was possible for him to match the marks on the bullet to the gun it had come from, but the original gun could have come from anyone unless it was specialized, in which case it would be extremely difficult if not impossible to track down. And all of that took time. Time that Walter—and Integra—just didn't have.

If there was any hope of finding her quickly, he needed to see her family records. But when he looked up at Alucard it was clear the vampire wasn't going to let him go too quickly.

"Someone wanted Integra quite badly if they had the nerve to ambush her away from the mansion." There was a tone in Alucard's voice that suggested he felt Walter was partly responsible, and while to some extent that may have been true, Walter couldn't possibly have known when precisely in time they were going to be ambushed. It could have been before the meeting, after, or during, if the culprits were feeling particularly ballsy. All he knew was the day. Nothing more.

But Walter would never admit as much to Alucard, who he knew had an unfathomably low tolerance for traitors. History had made it clear what Alucard thought of traitors. If he knew what Walter and Bentley were doing, there was no telling what he would do, even under Integra’s watch, present or not. And what was worse, what the outcome could be if he was to tell Integra once they had her back safely on English soil. Alucard certainly wasn’t of a forgiving nature, and while Integra had never truly been angry, Walter had always had the nagging feeling that if provoked, Integra’s wrath could be a truly terrifying and unforgiving force.

It was all the more reason to find her and get her back as quickly as possible.

Bentley growled disapprovingly at the implication of the statement; Walter ignored him.

Walter slipped the bullet into his pocket for safe keeping. “Quite desperate indeed.”

“Do you have any idea who shot at you?” There was that tone again, suggesting treason. Or perhaps Alucard was more worried about Integra than he was letting on. Walter glanced at Eripmav, expecting to see some form of betrayal of Alucard’s true emotional state, as dæmons had the tendency to do, but the cobra was as still as her counterpart.

Whatever the reason, Bentley stiffened at Walter’s side. Walter only hoped Bentley’s behavior would come off as worry.

“No.” And that was the truth. Walter didn’t know. It seemed to be the only truth he was able to tell in this mess, and it occurred to him that that was precisely why the Major had changed the plans and gotten a third party involved. The more heat and suspicion he could take off Walter, the better their chances were of seeing the plan through to the very end.

“But you seem to be in quite a hurry,” Alucard mused. “I assume you have some idea of their identity?”

Walter narrowed his eyes. “I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t read my mind.”

“That was before Integra was captured. We both know with the most recent string of severing and Integra’s research that she was bound to find trouble. And we both know, given that, what might happen to her should she get too close.”

The bullet in Walter’s pocket suddenly felt heavier than it initially had.

Bentley shifted uneasily.

Alucard frowned. “Your dæmon is doing a rather poor job of hiding your true feelings. Am I really keeping you from something that important?”

Walter reached out a hand to rest on Bentley’s shoulders. “I was hoping to look through Integra’s family records as soon as possible. I believe she found something there that gave her a clue about her culprits.”

A smile painted over Alucard’s frown. “Then by all means, please, go and look. Don’t let me keep you any longer.”

Walter went and did just that.

There was no mistaking the relief on the driver's face when he was finally able to relieve himself of his passengers. And even if it hadn't shown in his face, it showed in the way he didn't hesitate to put the car in reverse and slam on the pedal, blazing down the long drive to Hellsing as though there was fire spewing out of the vehicle's tailpipe.

Andersen thought little of it, since all he was concerned about was getting to the organization's headquarters in a timely fashion, and indeed he had.

The air was thick with fear, as thick as it had been in the cab, as Andersen turned around to face the two guards standing at the gate. Their dæmons backed behind them, crouched down against the dirt. Out of habit and reflex, Andersen gripped the handles of his bayonets, ready to cut down the vermin who dared work for the woman who had the nerve and audacity to kidnap and murder the children of his orphanage.

_Don't_ , Andreas cautioned. _We need to get in. Our fight is with Integra Hellsing, not them. We don't have time for petty arguments._

Andersen reluctantly relinquished his hold on the bayonets and hid them back up in his sleeves. He took a breath to calm himself, attempting to ignore the anger boiling in his veins. Andreas was right. They had much larger and more important problems than a couple of guards keeping him from the woman behind the disappearances—and what he now knew to be murders—of hundreds, if not thousands of children.

"I'm here to see Sir Hellsing."

Neither guard answered immediately, having heard of Alexander Andersen at one point or another, whether in passing or directly from a commanding officer. They were highly aware of the danger he posed, and to have him standing outside Hellsing was a situation they had never been trained to handle. Did they treat him as any other visitor or did they treat him as a threat?

Andersen narrowed his eyes. "I'm here to see Sir Hellsing," he repeated.

At last one guard swallowed heavily and asked, "Do you have an appointment with her?"

_Since the day this mess began._

"No," he replied. "But it is imperative that I speak with her as soon as possible."

He didn't miss the way the guards exchanged cautioned glances with each other. What was it that he was missing?

Both men sighed stiffly. "Alright. We'll…let Sir Integra know she has a visitor."

They did so, alerting the guard booth on the other side of the gate that there was a visitor for Sir Integra. Andersen noted that the response from inside the estate sounded confused and uncertain, and it only fueled his feeling that something was amiss in Hellsing.

Andersen glanced down between his dæmons and those of the guards. Andreas remained focused on the gate, ears up and alter, rather than the dæmons who still crouched behind their counterparts. There was no interaction between them. Or, none that he could see at least.

When the gates at last opened, Andersen and Andreas passed through without a second look at the guards. The massive front lawn of the Hellsing estate spanned before them, a long walkway of cobblestone that seemed to grow longer and longer the more they walked. It was as though they would never see justice for Rafael, or Bernardo, and Integra Hellsing would continue to do what she was doing—what she had been doing for the last two years. Or longer.

Andersen suddenly realized that he was unable to comprehend the full scale of what was going on. He didn't know just _how long_ this had been happening. Just how long had children been going missing off the streets? It seemed as though it had just started, as though he had only heard the stories that long ago, only after it had become noticeable that hundreds of children were going missing all over Europe. It had only become a reality for him when Rafael went missing and reappeared without his dæmon. That was all the confirmation he needed to know that the stories were not just stories, but real events that were happening around him.

And his children had gotten caught in the middle.

It took every ounce of his self-control for him to knock on the door rather than break it down and demand to see Sir Hellsing. As much as he wanted to storm in and cut her head from her shoulders, he knew there was a better way to go about this. For now. And _then_ he would cut her head from her shoulders.

Not to mention that he would need a miracle if he wanted to get in without attracting the attention of Hellsing's pet vampire.

The butler who answered the door had a green cricket dæmon perched on his shoulder that pushed itself into his neck the moment it saw who was at Hellsing's door. The butler's eyes widened. He took a strangled breath, then cleared his throat and stood as professionally as possible in the face of an extremely dangerous enemy.

"Good afternoon, ehm, sir," he said, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Sir Hellsing," Andersen answered, for their third time that afternoon. "May I speak with her?"

The butler cleared his throat again, clearly on edge. "Eh, yes of course. One moment, please." He hastily ushered Andersen into the open front hall, and hurried up the stairs without another word.

_I thought we were sure we knew who it was,_ Bentley lamented.

“I need to be sure,” Walter answered, pulling the study door opened. “We may be sure, but that doesn’t mean we know for a fact.” He let Bentley go in first, then followed him in and shut the door behind him.

They were greeted by the scent of dust and musty books. The old, unused desk in the center of the study gave off the smell of aging wood.

Walter took a breath. It had been so long since he had been in that room. Ten years, at least. Integra had never made use of the room, refusing to enter since Arthur died. He had left the room alone at her order, though he did stop to clean and dust it once a year, if only to keep it from falling into total disrepair. And if he couldn’t get to it, or thought he wouldn’t be able to, he asked someone else he knew would do it with the utmost respect. As much as Integra was bothered by the room, he didn’t think she would approve if he let it fall apart.

It was the last physical memory she had of her father.

Three of the four walls were filled to capacity with books. It was almost difficult for Walter to pick out Integra’s family records from among the sheer number of books. The only recognizable features that made them stand out from the rest were the initials of Integra’s predecessors printed on the leather spines.

Bentley trotted lightly over to the books, sniffed them once, and stepped back to let Walter see them. _The scent is stale,_ he said, _but she looked through these two._ He tapped his nose against two side-by-side books, one labeled A.V.H. and the other A.H.

Walter carefully pulled both books down from the shelf. He nodded toward the desk. “Should we sit?”

Bentley raised one ear. _Integra sat on the floor._

That said more than enough.

“All right.” Walter sat down cross-legged in front of the bookshelf, one book at his side, the other in his lap; Bentley sat down next to him. He looked down at the book in his hands, marked A.V.H., and shook his head. As much as he needed to do this—for Integra’s sake—it felt wrong to go snooping through her family records.

Bentley snorted. _And to think! You were willing to steal them!_

“Not them,” Walter corrected gently. “Just hers.” He looked over the leather-bound books in front of him, searching vainly for one marked I.F.W.H. There wasn’t one.

“She doesn’t have one.”

_She doesn’t?_ Bentley scanned the shelf carefully. _Oh. Well, nothing to steal, I suppose._

“No,” Walter agreed. But he still felt it was odd that Integra’s journal wasn’t among those of her relatives. Did she really _not_ have one? Or was she so bothered by the room and its past that she simply couldn’t store it there?

_Perhaps she keeps it in her nightstand drawer? Like she kept the extra copy of her notes._

That had been more of a surprise to Walter than he realized. He hadn’t expected Integra to keep a copy of her notes, or anything for that matter. What had changed that she felt the need to keep copies?

Well, not matter now, it was done and over with and he had other things to worry about.

He opened the book carefully, silently praying and hoping that Integra’s relatives understood why he was looking at things not meant for non-Hellsing eyes. Arthur would be forgiving, especially where his daughter was involved; Alydar was rather questionable, as Hellsing history didn’t paint a very clear picture of him; and Abraham would be downright unforgivable, there was no question about that. History had made _that_ apparent enough.

But maybe Arthur and Alydar would be kind enough to put in a good word for him to van Helsing if it came down to that. Walter could have sworn he felt the angry spirit of Abraham van Helsing looming over him as he continued to flip through the pages.

For the most part, there was nothing of interest to Walter and nothing that could shed light on the current situation until he reached 1897.

“Bentley, look here.” Walter pointed to the entry marked July eighth.

Bentley leaned over and read through the entry. He growled softly as he read. _So this isn’t the first time this has happened._

“No,” Walter confirmed. “And unless we do something, I don’t suppose this will be the last.”

As he read further, Walter began to see a number of similarities between Van Helsing’s case and Integra’s. But just as he was beginning to draw conclusions between the fine details, there came a knock at the door and another of Hellsing’s butlers poked his head in. The cricket dæmon perched on his shoulder shifted its legs uneasily.

Walter turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, ahem, a visitor for Sir Integra,” the man choked out.

Walter immediately shut the book and put them both back as carefully as possible. He sped out of the room, wondering who could possibly be looking to speak with Integra.

He wasn’t expecting Alexander Andersen.

The priest stood there in the lobby, stiff and furious. Walter was going to have to exercise caution. He dismissed the butler and went down to greet the Vatican agent.

“Father Andersen,” he said slowly. “I understand you want to speak with Sir Integra.”

“Yes,” Andersen answered, relaxing a little, as though he was relieved not to repeat himself for a fourth or fifth time. And if he’d somehow gotten into Hellsing—peacefully, it seemed—then it meant that he had repeated his intent several times over. “Where is she?”

Walter unconsciously reached for Bentley. He knew Andersen didn’t miss it.

The priest’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Sir Integra?”

The wires twitched in Walter’s gloves.

“She’s not here,” he answered honestly. How much should he reveal to the Iscariot agent?

A growl from his side answered that for him. Walter looked down as Bentley gave a huff of a bark; Andersen’s Irish wolfhound dæmon responded with a raspy bark of his own. The dæmons were communicating in the way that only dæmons could. It ended with an understanding nod between the two.

_Invite them downstairs,_ Bentley said. _They have information we want and need, and we for them. I’ve already told Eripmav to make sure her counterpart is on his best behavior._

Walter forced back a smirk before it could slip. “Father Andersen,” he said, “why don’t you come downstairs with us? I believe we have some…misconceptions to clear up.”

Andersen grunted in reply, but without further questioning, he followed Walter down to the basement.

_His dæmon’s name is Andreas, by the way,_ Bentley added casually.

Walter would have to take that information into account, though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it.

When they arrived in Alucard’s chamber, the vampire’s eyes were hidden behind his glasses, but it was still easy to see his eyebrows raise at Andersen’s arrival. Eripmav remained still.

“Well, this is a surprise.” A smirk pulled at the corners of Alucard’s mouth. “What brings you here, Father Andersen?”

Walter shot Alucard a warning glare as he went to stand beside the vampire’s chair.

“Your _master_ ,” Andersen spat contemptuously. Andreas shot him a warning glance of his own. “She’s spent far too long kidnapping and murdering children, as have you. I should cut the pair of you down where you stand.”

_Kidnapping and murder? Oh dear._

Walter and Bentley, wide-eyed, exchanged glances. “Father Andersen,” Walter said quickly, cutting Alucard off before he could speak. “There’s been a grave misunderstanding. Hellsing hasn’t kidnapped, much less murdered, anyone. On what grounds are you basing your accusations?”

_Make him angry now,_ Bentley growled sarcastically. _But when are you going to tell him about Integra?_

_After we hear him out. He wouldn’t come to all this was to accuse us of murder and kidnapping without reason._

“One of the children from my orphanage has died,” Andersen snarled. “And another has gone missing. The first came back without his dæmon, and I know the second will do the same. Where are they?”

The twitch of Alucard’s eyebrow was the only cue Walter needed to continue.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied, thinking of Samson. He made a mental note to check in with the boy’s family the first chance he got. “But I’m afraid the children aren’t here. And neither is Integra. Whoever has been kidnapping and severing the children has also taken Integra and we feel the same will be done to her.”

That changed the atmosphere of the room. Andersen’s shoulders dropped; disbelief sunk into his face as he processed the information, and the realization sunk in that Hellsing was not his enemy, but his potential ally. Even Alucard relaxed, if not in his body, then in his face; his eyebrows came to rest just above the rims of his glasses.

Walter went on to explain the circumstances of the ambush on their way home from Westminster, as well as the few details he could remember from the encounter. He didn’t fail to mention the detail Samson had given them or the pieces of information he had learned from Abraham Van Helsing’s journal.

All the while he watched Andersen’s face fall and the mix of horror, anger, hurt, and disappointment seep into his eyes. Andreas shook his head, rattled, tail dropped and nearly tucked between his legs.

“That’s Iscariot,” Andersen breathed when Walter finished. “My own people…” He trailed off, beyond upset. It was clearly a blow and clearly a lot of information to take in, process, and comprehend. Walter was content to let him have as long a moment as he needed.

“Andersen,” Walter, at last, said, gently, not wanting to lose him entirely, “if Iscariot is going to sever Integra, how long would they wait? How much time do we have?”

Andersen’s face shifted from betrayal and disbelief to careful thought and concentration. He pushed his glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose.

“Maxwell is calculating,” he said finally. “He wouldn’t rush anything involving Integra. If anything, he would take a few days. I would give him three at best.”

“We have three days, then,” Alucard clarified, “before your fanatical superior cuts my master from her dæmon. What do you suggest we do?”

“Get in first,” Walter said, feeling the need to defuse the situation before it even started. “There’s nothing else we _can_ do until we get inside Iscariot headquarters.” He looked to Andersen. “Father Andersen, would you be able to help us with that?”

The priest didn’t answer right away. “Yes,” he said at last, “I can.” He paused. “But I’d like to rest first. There’s…quite a bit I need to think over.”

Walter nodded. “Of course. Why don’t I show you to a spare room?” He began to follow Andersen up the stairs, turning to Alucard to add, “We can finish discussing this later. After all, it’s been a long day—for all of us.”


	14. Plots, Plans, and Ancient History, Part 3

The walk from the basement to the spare room was blur. Andreas shuffled up the stairs behind him, blank and dazed, and when they next registered their surroundings they were sitting on the edge of a bed in a room two floors up. That his own children could be involved in something so heinous...He tucked his face into his hands. Where had he gone wrong? He was sure he had raised them the right way. He was sure he had taught them right from wrong. He was sure-

He raised his head from his hands, cut off at the sudden weight on his foot. Andreas had sunk to the ground, legs tucked underneath him, his head resting on Andersen's shoe. The defeat in his eyes left them glazed and dull.

_Where did we go wrong?_ Andreas echoed. _I thought we had taught them about respecting dæmons._

_We had_. Andersen distinctly remembered the lesson he had given Heinkel, Yumie, and Enrico. It was one of the first and the same lesson he gave all the children: you dæmon was a part of you, it _was_ you, and you were never to violate another's soul for any reason, even if it meant that Dust would collect on them once the dæmon settled. That, he said, was what they had Baptism for, and what they had Confession for. There was no reason to violate another's soul.

Had they not listened that day? Had they forgotten? Or have they chosen to ignore everything he'd taught them?

Andersen could see no other reason for his children to breach that precious boundary he had made sure to teach them not to cross. Unless, of course, there was something go on that was forcing them to cross it. If that was the case, they should have gone to Andersen immediately. They should have told him before it led to missing dæmons and one of his orphanage children dead.

_Why wouldn't they have come to me, Andreas?_ He had always made it clear that they could come to him about the pressure building behind his eyes and the lump in his throat, Andersen found it easier to communicate mentally.

_I don't know._ Andreas whined. _There has to be something going on they couldn't tell us about._

_Wouldn't or couldn't?_

_I suppose that depends. If they were sworn to secrecy or if they were deliberately keeping us out of the loop._ Andreas raised his head with a pale spark of life in his eyes. _If they-_

_Stop, Andy._ Andersen could feel a headache coming on as the gears in Andreas' mind worked at a rapid pace. He knew where Andreas was going and he didn't like it. But he couldn't block out the rest of the thought even if he tried: _If they wanted us out of the way._

And Andersen discovered he couldn't agree more. There was no other reason for the attacks on the orphanage.

And Maxwell had let him believe Hellsing was behind it all.

Oh, yes, Maxwell _had_ wanted them out of the way. But for what?

Andersen groaned. What he needed now, though he was certain he wouldn't get, was sleep. Sleep and time. And time was something none of them had much of.

Walter and Bentley lingered outside the door a moment longer than they were certain they should have. But it was unnerving—understandable but unnerving—to see Andersen in such a state of distress. It seemed in all their previous interactions that there was nothing that could bother the man, nothing that could damped his fighting spirit.

And yet, here they were.

_Let's go._ Bentley turned away first, feeling the need to give Andersen some space and privacy as he mourned and contemplated. _He'll come around when he's ready._

"Yes," Walter said in a low voice. "I suppose you're right."

His dæmon snorted and shook his head. Walter knew without a word passing between them that Bentley meant to use this as a jab at Walter for his decisions, but knew better at a time like this. Integra was missing, at risk of being severed, and Iscariot was on its way to internal dissent. This was not the time to degrade their relationship further.

They went down the stairs in silence and returned to the basement, where Alucard still sat with the same even expression and Eripmav lay coiled at his feet.

"Well?"

"Distraught," Walter answered. He hadn't expected much more or less and felt a particular twinge at the irony of the situation.

_But only when Integra is in danger,_ Bentley grumbled, less with frustration and more with worry.

"He'll need time," Walter said, resting his hand on Bentley's shoulder. "This is quite the shock."

Alucard grunted. "He'll have to recover quickly. Time isn't something we have an abundance of."

"Of course." The wires twitched inside his gloves. If Walter were still as half as reckless as he had been in his youth, he would storm Iscariot himself, cut them all down ten by ten to rescue Integra. But he was older, wiser, more experienced, and he knew better than to do such a thing. They needed a plan, not rage-induced bloodshed.

"We'll reconvene tomorrow if Andersen feels well enough," Walter said.

Alucard merely grunted a second time; it was enough of an agreement for Walter.

He and Bentley big Alucard a temporary farewell and went on their way.

The first day, as Walter expected, yielded no results. Father Andersen kept to his room, never uttering a word to Walter when the butler brought up the meal trays. Walter left him alone, and for that, Andersen was thankful. He still had much to think about.

Think and pray, and with the exception of a few poor hours of sleep, that was all he had done. He had to think about how he would handle this when he returned to Iscariot. He prayed that God would grant him the ability to handle it with patience instead of bayonets. He knew he didn't have enough patience on his own to face Maxwell.

_They wanted us out of the way._ Andersen only knew as much as he was capable of putting together. They wanted Andersen out of the way to avoid suspicion, avoid questions, avoid investigation, all to get to Integra Hellsing and let her take the blame at the same time. The answer at the center of it all it all—the why—continued to remain a mystery.

Parts of history were repeating itself, the missing children, the severings, the lost dæmons. This time, he knew for a fact the General Oblation Board had no hand in it. They, it seemed, had learned their lesson. Iscariot had not. And they needed to—as it was clear they hadn't when Andersen first taught them about dæmons.

He was torn between the urge to throw bayonets through the halls of Iscariot to avenge his lost children and the urge to let them face their punishment at a later date.

_Avenging our children by harming our children?_ Andreas asked, voice hoarse. _Are you really going to punish them or are you going to let our Father handle them?_

"I don't know," Andersen said with a sigh. "I will do whatever He wills."

Andreas gave a sigh of his own. It may not have been the answer either of them had wanted to settle on, but it was the answer they came to. Andersen couldn't bring himself to harm his children, however wrong they may have been. He would talk to them, sooner or later.

And, in the case of Maxwell, the one child he wanted to avoid until this mess was sorted, it would be sooner. "I'll have to call him," Andersen said. "He'll want an update." He dreaded that, having to call the man who had taken Rafael from him.

_Yes,_ Andreas said, _but not today. Let us have this day to ourselves. Tomorrow, we will call._

And so, on the morning of the second day, Andersen decided to make the call. It was to be a short call, for his sake and Maxwell's, nothing more than a quick update to inform Maxwell of his whereabouts and his progress. It was a call he dreaded making, now knowing what he did.

And it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from berating Maxwell when the bishop at last answered the phone. "Hello?

"Maxwell." Rage spilled into Andersen's voice. There was a pause on the other end.

"Ah, Father Andersen." Maxwell sounded no less jubilant than any other day, and it only served to enrage Andersen further. The man had not a care in the world for the damage he had done, for the children he had killed, for letting Hellsing take the blame for a crime they had never committed, a crime they were now to be the victims of.

_Thou shalt not bear false witness._

Andreas growled.

"I've not heard from you in two days," the bishop said. "I take it you've found what you were looking for?"

Andersen gripped the phone tighter. The pale face of Raphael and empty bed of Bernardo flashed through his mind. Raw fury turned his vision red. "Oh yes, sir," he said, nearly spitting the last word in spite. "I've found exactly what I was looking for."

At last, on the third day, Andersen emerged from his room. He was decidedly drained and feeling far more haggard than he ever remembered; Andreas went beside him in a slow shuffle, not quite bright but not quite dull. His eyes remained shadowed.

They found Walter in the lobby, shutting the door on a guard who was perhaps providing an update on the security of the estate. To his knowledge, they had not been told the nature of Integra's absence, only that she was, and it was nothing they needed to worry about that the present time. The parallel of the situation was not lost on Andersen; Hellsing was hiding from its own people the way Iscariot was, though with far different reasons.

It occurred to Andersen, for the first time in his interactions with Hellsing, that perhaps the organization wasn't as deserving of the fires of hell as he initially thought. It was a thought that Andreas tilted his head and lifted an ear at.

_I'm finding I can't argue that,_ the wolfhound said. _I hadn't expected to find so much heart in an organization considered our adversary._

_Aye,_ Andersen agreed. What happened this day and the next would forever alter the way the two groups thought of each other. Somethings would remain as they were. Others would not. He sighed.

As he went down the stairs to meet Walter, Bentley shouldered his counterpart's leg in warning. Andreas's ear twitched. _Something's wrong with them, Alexander. Something about them makes my fur crawl when I get near the foxhound._ He snorted, _I think they've gone bond-sour._

Andersen's step faltered. _Bond-sour?_

_Aye. And I've never seen a pair so._

_Bond-sour._ A term Andersen rarely heard. But now, as he looked at the way Walter and Bentley stood near each other, the foxhound a few inches further than dæmons normally stood to their counterpart, he could see it. A black thread between them, growing thicker by the day, the longer they went without reparation.

Andreas huffed; Bentley blinked slowly. Yes, the foxhound was well aware of his bond with Walter. It was difficult for a dæmon to _not_ be aware of it.

"Father Andersen."

"Walter." He rolled his shoulders. "I apologize for my reclusiveness these last days. There was…much I needed to think about."

"No need to apologize," Walter said. "These have been trying times for all of us."

"Yes," Andersen agreed. One dead, one missing _._ At his side, Andreas huffed, _Trying times, indeed._

Walter motioned to the basement. "Our time is running short. Shall we?"

Without a word, Andersen let the butler lead the way to the basement yet again. It wasn't with anger toward Hellsing this time, but rather towards his own people, the reverse of the day before.

_And the next time you enter the basement, I'm sure you'll be angry at Hellsing again,_ Andreas said.

_I pray there won't be a next time._

Once again, at the end of the stairway, seemingly forever seated on his blood-soaked throne, was Alucard, smirking and with his cobra dæmon curled lightly at his feet. "Ah, I see you've finally joined us, Father Andersen."

The handle of a bayonet brushed the palm of Andersen's hand. Andreas growled; Eripmav struck Alucard's shoe with a warning bite. _We aren't in the mood for this._ Alucard said nothing, and a heavy silence persisted.

Bentley fidgeted and growled to Walter, prompting the butler to say something, anything, lest they stand there for hours and let their time run out.

"We know Iscariot has Integra," Walter said; Andersen flinched involuntarily. "We need to find her and get her out." And there he stopped suddenly, unable to bring himself to verbalize the consequences of them not finding Integra in time. Bentley, evidently poor at keeping his counterpart's emotions secret, clenched his jaw and stared down at the floor.

"I suggest we decide 'who' before 'how,'" Alucard said. "Breaking into Iscariot is far from child's play. Shall I volunteer Father Andersen?"

_No._ Andreas lifted his head. _Andersen and I have talked about many things. In light of those things, I believe it would be best for us to remain behind. Encountering Maxwell now would have…less than desirable results._ To Andersen, Andreas said, _You know this is the best option. Your head isn't entirely on your shoulders, and rightfully so._

_Yes,_ Andersen said, _but I don't like the thought of an enemy organization infiltrating our own, even now._

_Understandable. Though I doubt they'll be so quick to visit Iscariot._

Bentley nodded, confirming Andreas's decision, then stepped forward and said, _We, too, have decided to—_

_And what of us?_ Eripmav fanned her hood, hissing. _Do you really expect us to go strolling into the holiest city on earth with no issue? Have you forgotten who we are? We'll burn before we even reach Integra!_

The canine dæmons bristled. Andreas rolled his eyes. Of course! What were they thinking, sending the vampire into the Vatican?

"A vampire storming the Vatican," Andersen muttered. "I should hand in my swords and hang up my cross if I allow such a thing."

_Then what other option is there?_ Bentley asked. _Do you expect us to wait until they send them back to us in halves?_

Andreas sighed. _Alexander, there is one way—the catacombs._

Andersen ground his teeth. _I don't much like that._

_It's the only way._

Now it was Andersen who sighed. "No, of course not." He paused, then said, "There is an underground route to Iscariot. A series of catacombs, leading into the Vatican from Rome. They will take you into Iscariot headquarters."

Alucard's eyebrow twitched. "And the barrier?" he asked. "How far does it extend?"

"Surface level," Andersen said. Every word that came out of his mouth, revealing Iscariot and the Vatican's secret entrance pulled at his gut. "The catacombs haven't been used in decades; they've long since been sealed. You'll be met with no resistance inside."

"Excellent." The trademark, tell-tale grin that Andersen hated so spread across Alucard's face. He set his glasses on the table, red eyes ablaze, then stood and pulled the Casull from his coat.

Andersen stopped Alucard before the vampire could leave. "Leave my people to me."

The grin on Alucard's face faded. "Then you best hope they don't stop me from retrieving Integra."

Andersen stiffened, and Andreas growled, but ultimately they let Alucard pass. Eripmav went after him, slithering up onto his shoulders, and the vampire and his dæmon disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

Getting into the catacombs was as easy as Andersen had said. This fact mildly surprised Alucard, who had still expected the priest to lie to them to keep them away.

_I don't believe that's in their vows,_ Eripmav mused.

Alucard raised an eyebrow. "Even for Iscariot?"

_Yes. Nor would I expect him to lie to us at a time like this. We've all lost something._

Alucard grunted in agreement. As it stood, little shocked or unnerved him. He had been alive for so long, seen so many horrors and atrocities, that there was nothing more the world could place before him that would move him in any direction.

But that genuine distress—tired and earth-shattering—in Andersen's eyes did just that. This was a man who was his feared adversary, a worthy opponent, and he was so blindsided by his organization's heinous activities. There was more to it than simply that—he was surprised that his people had taken from him and broken what he loved. Alucard couldn't deny that Andersen's despair pulled at something somewhere within him.

_We'll know what that feels like if we don't hurry._ Eripmav fanned her hood in worry; Alucard quickened his pace.

"You underestimate me," he said.

_I overestimate Iscariot,_ she countered. _How are we to know Maxwell hasn't grown impatient and done it already?_

"We don't." And that worried him.

Eripmav, ever the more emotional of the two, squirmed on his shoulders. _Faster, you fool. Time is short!_

And his did move faster, all while trying to catch a trace of Integra's thoughts while Eripmav did the same with Illiad's until she directed him, _That way._ He turned one corner, than another and another, all while feeling the sharp buzz of the religious barrier above him. Eripmav shrank into his coat collar with a hiss.

They carried on, corner after corner, dark hallway after dark hallway, until at last two things happened: Integra and Illiad's thought trails became more apparent, and a doorway at the end of the hall greeted them.

_Iscariot,_ Eripmav confirmed.

Alucard phased through the door and emerged in yet another hallway, this one with stone brick walls instead of bones, and lined with a series of torches and small cells. Eripmav slithered down from his shoulders and surveyed the area with a wave of her body.

_There—an opened door._ Alucard followed her an as she slithered toward it. He stopped in the doorway while Eripmav went in to investigate, tongue flicking over every surface she went over. She climbed up onto the wooden plank bench and huffed immediately after scenting.

_Oh yes, they were here,_ she confirmed. _I can smell Integra's cigar smoke in the wood._

Alucard grunted. How very like his master to smoke even in the face of certain doom. Now, however, Integra and Illiad were no longer here, but somewhere above them, becoming well-acquainted with that certain doom. He frowned.

"Andersen hadn't given us very clear instructions had he?"

_No._ Eripmav stood up, fanning her hood. _I suspect he knows nothing of Iscariot's severing mechanisms, other than their responsibility. We're really in the dark, aren't we?_ She returned to Alucard's shoulders as he began to move off toward a door at the other end of the hall.

"Perhaps not," he said. "I have a feeling Iscariot has long been harboring a severing mechanism within its walls. What better place to hide a machine that should have died with Bolvangar and Coulter all those years ago?"

In a rare moment that Alucard felt anything from Eripmav, her excitement rushed through him. Her eyes flashed, teeth in full view. _How fitting!_ she crowed. And then with a hiss and another flash of her eyes, she said, _And what irony that an English woman sponsored its creation?_

And now that it would be an Englishwoman was going to suffer because of it.

"What irony indeed," Alucard said. In spite of Andersen's demand, he brandished the Casull. Now that he was here, no one was going to stop him from retrieving Integra. And he positively grinned knowing that not even the holy barrier was going to keep him out. "What a surprise Iscariot will get." He cocked the gun, and they set off.

Eripmav hissed as they came to the second floor, _No, not here. I can't hear Illiad. Can you hear Integra?_

Alucard listened, really listened, and while he could vaguely sense Integra, he couldn't hear her. "No."

His dæmon spat. This was worse than the ambush. This time, there was a complete and utter _absence_ of Integra's voice, not even a faint whisper. But, as they skipped the exploring the second floor and went to the third, there was something else, coming in waves.

Fear.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

_Alucard!_ Eripmav launched herself from his shoulder and bolted down the hall as only a snake could. He didn't hesitate to follow her.

_Here!_

He could hear the last remnants of Integra's voice on the other side of the door, calling her dæmon's name. Alucard had never felt such cold fear of his own before.

With one shot he blew the door opened. The paladins on the other side gasped collectively and abandoned their stations, reaching for their weapons. In a brief moment of clarity, when time paused and the scene before Alucard became clear: Integra and Illiad, on the brink of unconsciousness in the guillotine; Maxwell, ordering the paladins to fire. Alucard, with one easy move, through them all against the walls. Whether they survived or not was not an issue at the forefront of his mind. The second shot he fired was not meant for Maxwell, however much he wanted, but for the Silver Guillotine.

Glass and metal poured onto the floor, sparks flew into the air, smoke poured from the guillotine and the control panels. Alucard returned the Casull to his coat and went into the wreckage of the guillotine. As the smoke cleared, he found Illiad clutched against Integra's chest; Integra herself was pale.

Alucard couldn't suppress a shiver. This call was too close. He had come too close to losing his master, Hellsing to losing its leader, Illiad to losing her counterpart, Integra to losing her dæmon. All far, far too close. He took the pair in his arms and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating again today bc 13/26 chapters haunted me for almost three years on ffn


	15. The Short Bonded Life of Marna and Rikku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also called: The Silver Guillotine, Part 2

They said in Christianity that the leopard was a symbol of sin, of the devil, of cruelty. So what a surprise it was to Father Maxwell and Andersen when Marna Hadrian showed up at Iscariot's doorstep with a leopard dæmon at her side.

She had been afraid from the beginning that they would see Rikku's settled form as the manifestation of a grave sin she had committed, or one that she would commit; that they would turn her away right then and there and deny her the chance to live the fully devout life she wanted. She had gone to a total of three other convents and religious organizations within the Vatican, she'd started keeping count the moment the first group her turned her away, and all of them had denied her when they saw the leopard at her side.

Marna couldn't understand why they feared and disliked Rikku's settled form as they did, or why they assumed she was an evil woman. To her recollection, she had never gravely sinned before in her life, and if she ever had, she had gone to confession as soon as possible to have her sins absolved. She went to Church every Sunday; she followed the Ten Commandments as best she could; she read the Bible each and every night before she went to bed, and prayed before she did. She wanted nothing more than to serve the Church and God in a fully religious setting, where she felt she would be able to better focus without the distractions of the secular world. But she never could seem to do that, not when every nun took one look at her dæmon and suddenly became afraid to let her in.

A cruel irony, Marna thought it was, that Christians were supposed to love their neighbors as they loved themselves, yet they couldn't find it in their hearts to take in the young girl who wanted to become a nun all because her dæmon had settled as an icon of evil.

When at last they were finally admitted into a convent not far from the Vatican, Marna felt as though she was finally able to breathe. She had gotten what she longed for, and she was determined to keep it.

She found it a small but forgetful irritation in the way her fellow sisters and their dæmons looked at Rikku. They never meant to, of course, and Marna forgave them because she knew as much.

Those looks drove Rikku into silence, though he had never spoken much to begin with. He stopped speaking altogether, even to Marna, and developed the habit of ducking behind her when others came around them. He became shy and nervous, as did Marna, and neither one of them found they could fully trust the sisters in the convent, though they tried time and time again because it was the right thing to do; it was what they had to do, because they all lived together and they relied on each other. There was no room for distrust.

Three years after her arrival, Marna received a letter from the Vatican, stating that she was being reassigned to Section Thirteen—the Iscariot Organization. It came suddenly and out of the blue, and neither Marna nor Rikku could understand why they were being transferred. Had they done something wrong that warranted their removal from the convent? Or had they done something right, and that was the reason for their transfer?

There was no time to ask questions, much less time to pack her few belongings, before Marna was picked up by two Iscariot agents and brought to the office of Father Enrico Maxwell. It was an experience Marna would never forget when she stepped into the massive marble room that housed the desk of the head of the Iscariot Organization.

He was a narrow-faced man with hair as silver as the marble floor, and eyes as violet as the flowers that the sisters grew outside the convent. At his side was a white-tailed deer, a buck with a rather unimpressive rack for one of his age, assuming his antler size matched his age at all.

The buck's face was expressionless, with the exception of his pricked ears and his silent attentiveness toward Marna and Rikku. His counterpart, on the other hand, was easier to read, with a gentle smile on his face and shining eyes. The smile did nothing to put Marna at ease. If anything, it only made her more nervous.

Maxwell dismissed the two agents and once they had gone, got up from his desk and went to Marna. "How wonderful to meet you, Ms. Hadrian."

"Marna, please, sir," she said, shaking his hand.

"Marna," he corrected himself. "Of course." Marna didn't miss the way he glanced down at Rikku. "I've heard a lot about you."

Marna shifted uneasily. "I thought so, sir," she said. "Was it mostly about my dæmon? I was told the dæmons of the ordained generally don't settle as creatures of evil and sin."

"Yes," Maxwell hummed, though Marna was uncertain as to which part of her statement he was referring to. "But there is no need to worry about that now. You are in a new place, and by all means, you have every right to start again. Once you are settled in and a bit more comfortable, I will have Heinkel give you a tour of Section Thirteen and have you briefed about our operations. It was lovely meeting you, Marna."

But Marna continued to worry. Her conversation with Maxwell left her feeling more on edge than when she had first arrived, and she began to get the distinct impression that there was more to her transfer than she knew.

Marna had become one of the least active members of Iscariot. When the other Paladins went out, Marna remained behind. She had never learned how to hold a gun, much less aim and fire it, and she had never been invited to any training sessions among the Paladins. In fact, she largely avoided all violence altogether, which she found odd, as the assignments the other Iscariot agents went out on largely involved violence of some kind.

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to keep her around; she never went out on any assignments, and never took part in any related activities. She was a pacifist in a sea of violent, calculated barbarians. She, however, had no purpose, and was more of an observer or unpaid intern than she was an actual member of Iscariot. It wasn't as though she minded, though; she preferred to watch rather than take any actual part. The thought of coming home with blood splattered across her cassock and Rikku's fur made her stomach churn.

This was the case until about two years into her stay with Iscariot, when Maxwell one day insisted that Marna accompany a small group Paladins out on an assignment to rid Rome of a pesky vampire that had been caught wandering the streets and murdering its citizens. She was given a quick lesson in how to hold, fire, and reload a gun, and was then shoved into the center of the group and pushed out the door without a chance to turn back.

The assignment started out normal, or what Marna perceived as normal, without bloodshed or bullet fire, and began with tracking the rogue vampire through the city until they could corner it and kill it. The Paladins she was with insisted she stay in the middle, where she would be protected, as she was the least experienced of all of them.

Marna did as she was told. If this vampire was as dangerous as they said it was, she didn't want to end up as its next victim.

The group moved in silence, guns drawn and lowered, ducking into alleyways and slinking through the shadows along building sides, hoping to both avoid and catch the vampire before it could catch them. Rikku stayed as close to the walls as Marna did, wide-eyed and bristling. Never before had she ever seen such fear in her dæmon's eyes, not even at the convent with the sisters who had looked down on him, albeit unintentionally. This was a different kind of fear neither Marna nor Rikku had ever known before in their short lives.

As they crept along the shadows, Marna risked a glance back over her shoulder, and caught a pair of red glowing eyes watching them from the shadows of another alleyway. She tapped the knee of the Paladin behind her and nodded toward the eyes.

_"There,"_ she whispered.

The Paladin whirled around, his dæmon alerting the other dæmons, who in turn alerted their counterparts, and all at once the group turned and opened fire on the hell fiend.

The sound of five guns firing at once pounded in Marna's ears to where she could hear nothing else, not even the orders from the leading Paladin to turn around and shoot the vampire that had moved from in front of them to behind them, so quickly that Marna hadn't even noticed it had happened, and for a moment was firing shots at a harmless wall. She turned around late enough to see the vampire leering over her with a pair of crimson eyes and saliva-drenched fangs. It stared at her with hunger...and perhaps even lust.

Marna's heart caught in her throat.

_I'm a virgin._

She was sure they all were, but of the five she was the most innocent, having seen so much less than the others. She was just the kind of victim the vampire was looking for.

" _Hadrian, get down!"_

Marna heard that order too late, just as she had heard the others too late, and was simultaneously aware of two bullets being fired, fiery pain in her shoulder, and a splash of blood from the vampire's mouth onto her front. The vampire disintegrated into dust as Marna fell to the cobblestone pavement, clutching her shoulder. Rikku was beside her, one leg held tightly to his chest, pale amber eyes wide in pain. He was silent, as always.

The Paladins, after a quick but thorough check that the vampire was indeed dead and no longer a threat, helped Marna to her feet and brought her back to Iscariot headquarters for treatment.

It was the first time Marna had ever thought to wonder if her reassignment was meant to be a way of getting rid of her.

It wouldn't be the last.

Twice more over the next four years, Marna went out on assignment, and twice more she was somehow injured in the process. Never fatally, but close enough that it put her out of commission for long enough that she was sure she should have died out there.

That marked three times Marna had been shot while out on assignment, and by her own people at that. Each time her injuries were linked to her inexperience and lack of training, but Marna began to harbor the idea that it was more than that, that instead of being the victim of accidental friendly fire, she was the victim of three botched assassination attempts. And she knew it was all because of Rikku's settled form.

They were trying to kill her because her dæmon had settled into a four-legged symbol of sin.

How ironic, yet fitting.

Marna decided she would much rather be back in the convent with harmless stares than she would be in Iscariot with trained assassins. But every attempt she made to request a transfer was denied, and she became trapped within the walls of Iscariot headquarters with no way of getting out.

Things only became worse when the disappearances began, two years after her second assassination attempt.

Marna hadn't noticed much at first. The Paladins went out on assignment, as they always did, and Marna thought nothing of it because that was just a part of being in Iscariot. But then she began to notice that they were going out more and more often, more than they ever did, sometimes for days at a time. All other assignments before that had only taken a few hours. Never days.

_Something's wrong._

Marna jumped at the sound of Rikku's voice. He had been silent for so long that she had forgotten what he sounded like. When she looked over at him from where she lay in bed, his eyes were bright in the dark and the fur along his spine stood gently. She was inclined to agree with him.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slipped her feet into her shoes, and with Rikku in tow she slipped out of her room and into the empty hallway. As she grew closer to the stairs, Marna began to hear voices. She couldn't make out any words, only voices. She heard those of Heinkel and Yumie, and two other Paladins whose voices she didn't recognize. They sounded as though they were just coming back from an assignment, one she knew must have taken a day or so, as Heinkel and Yumie hadn't been anywhere in Iscariot within the last couple days.

Marna pressed her back up against the wall. She wanted to look, but not if they were going to spot her. And with eyesight as sharp as that belonging to Grinsley, Heinkel's timber wolf dæmon, it was likely she would be spotted.

_Check for me, Rikku. Is it safe?_

Rikku went out ahead of her and poked his head around the corner. He drew back within seconds and gave her an affirmative nod.

Marna slid along the wall, still pressing close, and at the edge of the wall where the hallway blended into the stairway, she craned her head around the corner. First, she saw Grinsley, growling something to Kai-Ren, Yumie's lion dæmon, then she saw the dæmons of the other two Paladins. Then she saw the Paladins themselves, crowded around something small in the arms of one of the unknown Paladins. Then, for just a moment, Marna caught a glimpse of a lock of brown hair, and for a split second after the form of a young sleeping boy and his dæmon.

Her hand flew to her mouth before she could make a sound. She turned away quickly, bile rising in her throat. She fought off the growing urge to vomit on the floor.

Rikku was at her side, concerned. _What is it?_

She mentally shared the image of the Paladin holding the unconscious boy to him.

The leopard dæmon recoiled, fur bristling, eyes wide.

Of all the things she could have imagined connected with the disappearances, Marna never could have imagined Iscariot.

More than anything she regretted not telling the truth to Father Andersen when he had come looking for Rafael that day. But she knew he would never have been able to protect her from the General Oblation Board, whom she knew Maxwell would go to in order to have her dealt with. He would never have been able to protect her from Maxwell if the head of Iscariot ever knew that Marna had revealed Iscariot's dirty little secret.

It was too late to say anything when Andersen left for England after the disappearance of Bernardo from the orphanage at the hands of Yumie and Kai-Ren. It was too late to do much of anything except hope that it would all be over soon. She and Rikku tried to keep their heads down, tried to avoid attracting attention, but soon enough they were fully dragged into the plot by Maxwell, who insisted that they be there when he interrogated Integra Hellsing.

Marna felt as sick then as she did that first night she saw the Paladins with the unconscious boy. That was the first time she had ever seen someone’s dæmon deliberately touched, but the incident with Integra was the first time she had seen anyone’s dæmon handled as harshly as that. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall, wishing it would all be over soon.

It was, and that was why she offered to take Integra and her dæmon down to the lower levels of Iscariot. Rikku was gentle with the Russian Blue dæmon, and it was that gentleness Marna hoped the other Paladins saw instead of the sinful and evil creature they thought was Rikku. But it would do nothing to change their minds, not that late in the game, and by then it wouldn't matter. Still, Marna held onto a shred of hope that it might change their minds, just a little bit.

On the morning of the third day of Integra's stay with Iscariot, the day Maxwell was due to deliver his decision, Marna was on her way down with a bowl of chicken broth, only to be stopped by Calidor. The buck was alone, his counterpart nowhere to be found. Marna had seen Calidor roam the headquarters alone on occasion, but it unsettled her each time. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to be that far from his counterpart.

"Calidor," she said, "what can I do for you?"

_I've been instructed to inform you that you are relieved of your duties,_ the buck answered. _It is no longer your responsibility to look after Miss Hellsing._

Marna blinked, confused. She understood the order, though not the reason why, but she felt no longing to question it. "I understand, sir," she said, "but what am I to do with this?" She nodded toward the bowl. "I was just on my way to give it to Int-Miss Hellsing."

Calidor tossed his head. _You eat it, then. Why let it go to waste?_

That was reasonable enough. Once Calidor had dismissed her, Marna went back to the kitchen, sat down at a small table in the corner, and drank the broth herself. The warmth that seeped into her body was the nicest warmth she had felt in a long time. For the first time in a while, she didn't feel as stressed or worried.

When she had finished, she washed the bowl and put it back in the cabinet.

When she left the kitchen, there were four Paladins and Enrico Maxwell waiting for her.

The fear that pulsed through her system was like none Marna had ever known, even when she had been out on that first assignment. Her mouth went dry. Her hands wrung. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Rikku pressed against her leg.

"F-father Maxwell," she choked out. "Is something wrong?"

The priest smiled at her, that same gentle smile he had given her six years ago when Marna first arrived at Iscariot. The same unnerving smile that was meant to do the opposite of what it did. "Not quite," he replied. "But I'm afraid you know too much to continue your duties, Marna. I'm afraid I have no choice but to relieve you of your position."

That was all well and good, Marna could care less, but why were there four Paladins with him? She looked to each of the Paladins, asking the question without verbally asking it.

"They're here to escort you, my dear," Maxwell answered.

_Escort me where?_

Before she could ask, two of the Paladins grabbed Marna by her arms and led her down the hallway. They led her down the stairwell that led to the interrogation room, but didn't stop there. They took her further, down to the level just above the one that housed Integra Hellsing, and down a hallway that ended with only one functioning room. The doors opened to a massive white machine in the middle of the room, divided in the center into two compartments: one for the human, one for the dæmon.

An inaudible cry caught in Marna's throat.

She would have preferred to have died on assignment than to be parted from her Rikku.

The fight she put up was weak; fear had drained all the strength from her limbs. She could do very little but struggle weakly as they forced her into one side of the Silver Guillotine, and Rikku into the other.

The cry that had lodged itself in Marna's throat was let loose as the top of the guillotine flared to life. She didn't want it to end like this, becoming a shell of her former self. She wanted to keep serving. She wanted to-

_Pray._

She hadn't yet prayed today. She needed to.

The blade continued to lower.

_Our Father, Who art in Heaven..._

It was like they were cutting the sin away from her.

_Hallowed be Thy name..._

Her precious dæmon, who through no fault of his own had settled as a leopard.

_Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven..._

The very symbol of sin and cruelty.

_Give us this day our daily bread..._

But he was her dæmon, he had done no wrong.

_And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us..._

She needed him. He was all she had in this mess.

_And lead us not into temptation..._

Marna found the strength to pound on the glass that kept her from her dæmon, with no results.

_But deliver us from evil..._

The blade dropped to the bottom.

_Amen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still in the process of editing the next chapter. i don't know when it'll be up, i'm sorry


End file.
